


The Depths of Darkness

by dan1hart1ey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark Elves, F/M, M/M, creature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:25:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dan1hart1ey/pseuds/dan1hart1ey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Harry approaches his 7th year, he's finding himself changing in unexpected ways. His own understanding of who he is has been torn to shreds and among the chaos he has to recreate himself and everything he knows. He will be expected to rise up and stand for what he believes in and protect not one, but two worlds. As stress and insecurities mount, he finds himself turning to the most unexpected of individuals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Problem With Coming Of Age

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for a quick read, I'm afraid you found the wrong story. This will be a story of novel length and it is a gradual work in progress. Once the chapters I have completed have been added, the updating process will slow down as I write the next installment. Please keep this in mind. Also, a big thank you to **notyourparade** for glancing over this chapter and editing it.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I can understand your concern, however, I can assure you that this is nothing to worry about. It is quite natural for a young Witch or Wizard, such as yourself, to experience some physical changes during the weeks prior to their seventeenth birthday. The dormant magic within you will slowly become active over this period until your_ _full magical potential becomes apparent. I am sure that Miss Granger has already sent ahead reading material on this subject. It could be quite beneficial if you read through it carefully._

 _On another note, Molly and Arthur Weasley have requested that you spend the last two weeks of the summer under their care. I see no reason to deny them this request and, therefore, a member of the Order will be arriving on the 19th_ _of August to escort you to the Burrow._

_Enjoy the remainder of your summer and Happy Birthday!_

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore_

* * *

Harry growled in frustration, the letter crumpling in his hand.  _That was it? These things happen?_ Scowling, he tossed the small ball of wadded up parchment in the general direction of his wastebasket, not bothering to check whether it hit its target.  _Enjoy the remainder of my summer? How am I supposed to enjoy myself when I'm the only one who seems to care that there is something seriously wrong with me?_

He'd gone page by page through both books Hermione had sent and he'd found absolutely nothing. The entire task was like trying to read a newspaper in a rainstorm: completely pointless. Sinking onto his unmade bed, Harry sighed, more than a little bit of frustration slipping into the sound. He simply couldn't figure out how everything had gone so horribly wrong in such a short period of time. The summer had started out just as every previous summer had. The Dursleys, in their newest company car, had arrived at King's Cross Station looking as displeased to see him as he was about returning to Privet Drive. Having returned home Harry had since been spending the majority of his time making no noise and pretending that he didn't exist. That was, after all, the way Vernon preferred it. Same old, same old? Not Exactly. The trip to Privet Drive had been the end of what, for Harry, was a familiar sequence. Since his arrival in Little Whinning, strange things had been happening; things no one had an explanation for. Naturally, this only made his Aunt and Uncle glower at him all the more and, unfortunately, it was getting worse as his seventeenth birthday drew closer.

In a final, albeit futile, attempt to find answers; Harry grabbed the book closest to him. Almost frantically, he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the words in the hope of finding something he had missed. Perhaps this was some sort of vague Wizarding right of passage?  _Did Wizards do that sort of thing?_ That simple question was enough to make Harry realize, if nothing else, he actually knew very little about the world he was now a part of. Harry sighed at that. If he ever found the answers he was looking for, he swore he'd spend all of his free time with Hermione in the library in order to make up for his severe lack of knowledge. For all he knew, this was some twisted plot concocted by Voldemort, himself, to drive Harry absolutely batty. If that was the case, Harry had to hand it to him. It was working splendidly.

_During the weeks before a Witch or Wizard comes of age they may notice slight changes in their hearing, sight, and balance. These are normal reactions to the inherent magical levels shifting and increasing within the body. The length of this process varies from individual to individual, ranging anywhere from a fortnight to eight weeks._

The problem with Harry's experience, however, lay in a single term:  _slight._ Over the past week Harry had experienced the change in height, hearing, sight, and he'd even felt a change in how he carried his weight. For someone who had never been extremely tall or had never been able to see without glasses, these changes might have seemed like a blessing. The problem for Harry was the level at which these changes had occurred. In no way, shape, or form could Harry's developments be considered slight. He had grown over six inches in the last few days alone, his hair – while being ridiculously shiny and strong – was now down to the middle of his back, he could hear what was being said three blocks over, and, worst of all, he could count Dudley's nose hairs from the opposite end of a Quidditch pitch. By no stretch of the imagination were these changes normal. Having spent several years in the Wizarding world and seen a wide variety of magical events, he'd like to think that he had a greater imagination than most.

Slamming the book closed once more, he tossed it to the floor, the corresponding bang instantly assaulted his now delicate hearing. The saving grace to Harry's current predicament was the small fact that it didn't seem overly difficult to control his new, extended, senses. He had been able to gain some control over how much he heard or how far he saw, which certainly helped. Unfortunately, while he could control the level at which he heard, he simply couldn't control the level at which Vernon shouted.

"BOY!"

As the loud and grating voice of his Uncle bounded up the stairs, Harry's hands slammed protectively over his ears. Something needed to be done about the situation, preferably before he started to bleed from his ears. He could only hope that once midnight hit everything would return to a relatively normal state. All the books had stated that the changes stopped as the individual in question came of age. It was all he could do not to count the seconds.

Having climbed down the short flight of stairs with some trepidation, Harry located his Uncle reclining in the sitting room. Vernon's rather large backside was squeezed into one of Petunia's delicate looking chairs, the telly was turned on, and a bowl of popcorn sat on the stand beside the chair. "You called me?"

Round, beady eyes turned from the telly to focus on Harry, the disapproval and contempt quite evident in their shallow depths. If there was one thing Vernon Dursley despised, it was anything that didn't fit into his definition of "normal." Unfortunately, for Harry, his new hairstyle – among other things – certainly wasn't on the list of things a normal individual would condone. Of course, there wasn't a thing either of his guardians could do to rectify the situation. The Dursleys' had been trying for years to rid Harry of Magic only to be chased by Owls, terrorized by a half-giant, and confronted in public by a group of 'sketchy' looking individuals. In regards to Harry's hair alone, Petunia had ruined three pairs of good scissor and some garden shears in an attempt to return it to an acceptable length. It was now another character flaw that the Dursleys could add to Harry's list of growing abnormalities.

"As you are well aware, Petunia is hosting a dinner party this evening for a few of the ladies in the neighbourhood. While we have guests, you will be staying in your room. I don't want any sort of funny business out of you. If I hear one sound out of that room, you'll wish you'd never heard the name Vernon Dursley. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry only nodded in response, the rather irritating sound of his Uncles voice burrowing into his ears. It took all of Harry's will not to mention the small fact that he'd reached that particular point in his life several years ago. The threat itself probably would have carried much more weight before Harry had known of his magical heritage. The Dursleys, while being quite aware that Harry would never use magic against them, were not so sure about the others like him.

"Good," Vernon responded, a slow smirk stretching across his face, causing several of his chins to jiggle. It was a look Harry had hoped to never again see on his Uncle's face. It was a look that meant Harry was about to get some information that he wasn't particularly going to like. "It's about time you made yourself useful, boy!"

Fighting the urge to shrink back was almost impossible as Harry watched Vernon push himself out of the chair, the material stretching while the wood frame groaned in protest. He was honestly curious as to how the piece of furniture was still standing. Surely there must be some form of magical reinforcement holding it together.

Vernon's meaty hand plunged into the pocket of his trousers. Harry was almost afraid of what the older man would produce. After a moment of digging around, Vernon's hand reappeared with a scrap of paper and a ten-pound note. "Bastien's store. You're to pick up these items and have them back here before it gets dark. We're not going to wait all bloody night for them."

Harry blinked and slowly turned to face his Uncle once more, his eyes bouncing between the list and Vernon's swollen face. He couldn't possibly have heard right. "Excuse me?" he gaped, "I must have heard you wrong."

"You heard me right!" was the snapped reply. Vernon sneered up into Harry's face, his breath smelling of soured milk, causing Harry's stomach to flip violently. "I want you back before it's dark!"

"Bastien's store is miles away," Harry responded, glancing quickly out the front window to assess the level of light that was left in the day. "I'll never make it there and back before it gets dark. If you need it so badly why can't you just drive over and-"

"ARE YOU QUESTIONING ME?"

Vernon's voice pounded against Harry's unprotected eardrums, causing him to shrink back against the pain that jolted through his skull. "No, sir," he responded, holding his hand out for the list and money. Silently, of course, Harry was raging. Years of this behaviour had led to Harry's rather decent ability to prevent his true emotions from coming to the surface, at least where Vernon was concerned. Ron and Hermione might be able to read him, but Vernon merely thought he was intimidated into obedience.

"You had best get a move on, boy," was the final sneered comment to come from his Uncle before the mass of flesh squeezed himself back into his favourite chair, a large meaty hand reaching out for the bowl of over-buttered popcorn.

Keeping his mouth firmly shut, Harry moved to the front door and slipped easily into his shoes. He would have given anything to be able to turn around, march straight back into the sitting room, and hex his sad excuse for an Uncle until he couldn't see straight. As he moved out the door, he did, however, allow himself a small victory by slamming the door shut behind him rather forcefully. The resulting bang was just the noise needed to grab the attention of every individual that occupied the street. Even the ringing in his own ears couldn't dim the small satisfaction he received hearing his Uncle curse him from inside the house.

Sticking to the side of the street that offered the shade of a large row of Sycamores, Harry set off in the general direction of Bastien's store, knowing full well that he was never going to make it before the store closed. Little Whinning was not as 'little' as the name suggested. He continued to walk for several blocks, still silently fuming. He continued on like this until a sudden thought stopped him in his tracks.

_The Bastien's store was a mens shop._

As the suspicious feeling started to grow, wriggling in the back of his mind. Pulling out the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, Harry scanned the items listed and nearly groaned when he realized what he'd been sent to retrieve.

_Mens Aftershave?_

_Purple neckties._

Nothing on the list was for Petunia. Every item listed would belong to Vernon and/or Dudley. Harry did have a certain sense of family. Had the items actually been for Petunia, he would have carried out his task. She was family, despite everything. As far as Harry was concerned, Vernon and Dudley were insignificant dots in a very long line of insignificant dots. The Evans bloodline could have continued to include Dudley in this sense of family, but the boy's resemblance to his father put Harry completely off the idea. Instead, he rather liked lumping them together into one massive blob.

An irritated grumble escaped Harry's mouth as he crumpled the list, depositing it in the closest trash bin. There wasn't a point in attempting to complete the errand. The sun was already sinking behind the trees and in a few short hours he would be of age and, therefore, wouldn't have to worry about Vernon's ridiculous demands. He'd be able to leave without permission and control his own life. Vernon could try to reprimand Harry for not doing as he was told, but he had a rather amusing tendency to turn into a stuttering windbag whenever Harry's wand was in sight. That thought alone always improved Harry's mood.

With each step he took, Harry's mind drifted further and further from Little Whinning and his terrible relatives. His thoughts focused instead on the following day, wondering about what other surprises that could be in store for him. Aside from the strange physical changes, there were other traditions within the Wizarding world that had piqued his interest. The books Hermione had sent had been frustratingly informative in the area of material inheritances. With Sirius gone, Harry knew that he would be receiving his Godfather's property and the accounts connected to it, but what really drew his interest was the prospect of an inheritance from the Potter line. Most of the Pureblood families had an ancestral home. Even the Weasleys, further back in the line, had owned one. He had always assumed that the residence at Godric's Hollow had been his parents' only property, but he was starting to question his assumption. James had been from a pureblood family. Was there more to his Father's history than he had realized? If the Potters did, in fact, own a family home, he wondered if it might be safe enough to reside in, or, more importantly, if it held some piece of his Father that Harry had yet to discover.

Lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn't realize how much time had passed or how far he had strayed into Little Whinning. He continued to walk and ponder his future without noticing the gradual increase in noise. Finally, as he stepped off the edge of the sidewalk, the blaring of a car horn as it rushed past him brought him sharply out of his daydream. He had walked straight into one of the busiest sections of the community. Engines revved, horns honked, and the general buzz of conversation assaulted his hearing with a far greater effect than even the most insistent of Vernon's shouting.

Clamping his hands over his ears, Harry retreated quickly, his eyes searching for a place to escape the brash noises. As he rounded the nearest corner, he found himself at the gates of the Memorial park. There were no swing sets or sandboxes to attract children and their parents, which meant that most of the individuals who visited this park did so simply to enjoy the quiet scenery. Most significantly, there would be a distinct lack of man-made noise.

Harry sighed in frustration as the noise of the busy streets could still be heard from inside the park. What he needed was to get further away from the houses and streets. He needed to surround himself in nothing but the light sounds of nature that only the small section of wooded area at the back of the park could offer. The sun had already slipped behind the trees, casting long shadows around him. With his desperate wish for silence, Harry really couldn't be bothered with the approaching darkness.

As he inched closer to the trees, the sounds began to slowly fade, little by little. Rather than the blaring of car horns, he could hear the quick beat of a bird's wing and the quiet rustle of a squirrel's tail as it brushed a leaf. Harry's hands fell from his ears as the thrumming of the woods encircled him. He'd never before been this far into the park and, yet, strangely enough, he was enveloped by the oddest sense of welcome. As his fingers brushed the rough bark of a nearby elm tree the feeling changed into something else entirely. This was something completely new and overwhelming. This felt like home.

Harry relished the feeling. This was something more than what Hogwarts or even the Burrow could offer. He moved forward instantly, further into the trees, while stepping easily around roots and brush as though he'd walked that very path before. As he continued forward, Harry's surroundings began to shift, his peace of mind following suite as confusion washed over him. The soft hum of life had vanished, only to be replaced by an odd silence and quick, almost imperceptible movements of light. The sun was long past setting and yet, despite the diminished light, Harry could still see every knot in a tree that stood a good fifteen feet in front of him.

To his left, Harry caught another glimpse of bright movement. Someone or something was there with him. The sights and sounds he was seeing only further convinced him of this fact. With each flash of light there was a corresponding sound of laughter: the laughter of children.

"Wait!" he called, hoping to have whoever was out there, reveal itself. His voice echoed among the trees as the footsteps shifted, sounding directly behind him, followed immediately by another set to his left. Each time the footfalls sounded, the pitch of laughter increased until it had become nothing but painful shrieks accompanied by blinding flashes of light.

The overwhelming environment assaulted Harry's delicate senses, bringing him to his knees as he was overcome with pain, his stomach flipping in response. Harry's hands moved in a vain attempt to protect his ears from the piercing sound, with a desperate cry of "Stop!" He had no defences for this sort of pain. It attacked his every sense. All he could do was wait, his lips moving in a silent plea for silent darkness.

Unknown to Harry, two sets of eyes peered out from the safety of the trees, each watching him with curiosity. Neither one moved in an attempt to help or protect him from the pain he was wracked with, rather, they waited. For what, only they knew.

"Is this the boy we've been searching for?"

"His identity doesn't matter. He is one of us and, as the law decrees, we must take him back."

"Pity. He doesn't look like he'll amount to much."

"If I recall correctly, neither did you when you joined us."

"What are you waiting for then?"

A heavy curtain of annoyance hung in the air for several moments after the comment was muttered, before two pairs of feet touched the soft earth with barely a sound. Not even the leaves rustled in their wake. Little Whinning had, over the years, seen it's fair share of Witches and Wizards, but this was something else entirely. With a delicate wave of a hand, a simple barrier surrounded Harry, offering him a small reprieve from the assault on his senses. As the pain dulled, Harry's eyes cracked open to peer blearily up at his rescuers. His eyes blurred further as they attempted to adjust to the change in light, but, even as he was, he could see wealth and elegance in their stance. Their clothing was like nothing Harry had ever seen. The long, flowing material that had been combined with, what appeared to be, smooth dragonhide, held a distinct, if not exotic, sense of taste.

His gaze moved from the rather expensive looking boots to the deep shades of their cloaks, and further upward, eventually finding the eyes of each individual. The colours were startling, like two sets of glowing beacons in the darkness that surrounded them. Harry couldn't look away, and yet, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't read them either. A solid wall, acting as the doors to a fortress that protected their innermost thoughts.

"Who are you?" he whispered, the sound harsh and gravely.

"We are like you," the voice was smooth, holding the slightest trace of humour, "or, as I should say, you are like us."

Harry couldn't begin to explain what was going on and a sharp stab of pain through his skull was his instant reward for his attempts. After the previous onslaught, his mental capacity and physical strength were rather lacking, leaving his mind foggy and his movements sluggish. "What's happening to me?

As a pale hand was raised toward him, Harry's immediate reaction was to pull away. The attempted retreat, however, lasted but a fraction of a second before Harry found himself pinned in place by the strong, piercing gaze of blue eyes. Slowly, the hand moved toward once more until the tip of a finger rested against the feverish skin of his forehead.

"Everything will be explained in due time. Sleep long and well."

Harry could feel the darkness of his unconscious creep up around him as he stared deeply into those unfamiliar eyes and, strangely enough, he wasn't frightened. As odd as it was to contemplate, the darkness held within it a welcome like that of the morning sun and Harry felt it embrace him completely. As he allowed the dark tendrils of his unconscious wrap securely around him, Harry Potter knew no more.

 


	2. Culture Shock

 

Things for Vernon and Petunia Dursley had suddenly taken a turn for the better once they had discovered that their strange nephew, Harry James Potter, had disappeared. They'd been so delighted with the turn of events that they'd all but forgotten about the ten-pound note he'd left with. There had been no awkward good-byes, embarrassing shows of emotion, or anything else out of the ordinary. He'd just up and left. It was the kind of good-bye they had always hoped for, so they certainly weren't going to complain. They were, after all, now free of him, his odd friends, and his freakish ways. There would be no more explaining to the neighbours why the boy seemed a bit odd. Most importantly, at least where they were concerned, no more owls and unexpected visits from individuals just as strange as Harry had been.

Unfortunately, as they say, all good things come to an end. Even though the Dursleys had not cared for the last Potter, there were certainly others who did and they had arrived right on schedule. After the initial discovery that Harry was missing made by one, Arthur Weasley, Vernon and Petunia's belief that they would no longer have to suffer the presence of Witch's and Wizard's in their home was completely and hopelessly shattered. Magical being after Magical being seemed to step in and out of their home, each one asking a barrage of questions.  _Where's the boy? What have you done with him? Had there any strange visitors? Did he have his wand with him when he left? Do you know where he might have gone? Why did he leave?_

It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore had calmly stepped into their living room that Vernon and Petunia really started to consider the consequences of their actions. For being as old as Albus was, he certainly had a way of dominating a room that was all together intimidating, despite the rather gentle smile and twinkle in his eye. Dumbledore had sent owls and representatives in the past, but he had never before darkened their doorstep personally. The simple fact that he was now there, showed the seriousness of the situation.

"Vernon. Petunia," Dumbledore greeted, taking a seat in the chair that Vernon liked to assume was his and his alone, which, naturally, caused the vein in his temple to throb angrily in response. Of course, the comment that immediately sprang to the tip of Vernon's tongue remained locked softly behind the somewhat crooked row of his teeth. Vernon Dursley wasn't entirely dimwitted. If nothing else, he did have a certain sense of self-preservation. It was an entirely different thing to snap at Harry. The little brat couldn't use magic in retaliation. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was allowed and, no doubt, very good at it. Vernon's eyes moved back to Dumbledore as the old man continued, "I am well aware of the relationship that stands between yourselves and Harry. I also understand that you do no see eye-to-eye on many levels, however, it is imperative that we receive your full co-operation in discovering his immediate whereabouts."

"Why is it imperative for us?" Vernon spat, disdainfully. "Good riddance, if you ask me!"

"He's underage! He can't use magic! He's out there on his own with Merlin knows who after him! You're supposed to be his family! You foul, loathsome-"

"Nymphandora, please restrain your anger. It is justified, however, this is neither the time or place for it," Dumbledore's soft, yet commanding voice was just enough to keep Tonks from using every offensive spell she'd ever learned against the two despicable Muggles in front of her. As far as Tonks was concerned, Minerva had been completely right. They truly were the worst sorts of Muggles.

Once it was obvious that he would not be interrupted again, Dumbledore continued his direct line of questioning with practised ease. "It is my understanding that you, Vernon, had sent Harry to run an errand for you. An errand that you knew would take him quite a bit of time to complete, is that correct?"

"Yes, I did!" Vernon snapped. His chest puffing out, succeeding in making himself seem even larger than he was. "It's about time the little freak started to earn his keep. We've fed him, clothed him, even gave him Dudley's second bedroom and look how he repays our kindness! The moment he gets his hands on my hard earned money he vanishes, leaving us to clean up the mess. Well, I won't! Do you hear me! He's a criminal! I've been saying it for years."

Tonks all but growled her frustration and annoyance, her finger automatically tightening around her wand. This was getting absolutely ridiculous. The fact that Harry had to remain within the Dursley household in order to benefit from the blood magic was starting to look like a pathetically weak argument, particularly considering the amount of years Harry had already endured. Tonks opened her mouth to say as much, but Remus' hand was already covering it. The brief warning look he shot her distinctly said that speaking would be a bad idea, no matter how much he agreed with her.

"Where did you send him?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring the exchange behind him.

"He was supposed to be picking up a few items from Bastien's Store," Vernon responded waspishly, wanting nothing more than to throw the old man and his lackey's out onto the street. The only thing stopping him from the attempt was the wand gripped tightly in Tonk's fingers.

"Do you know which direction he took?"

"I don't know where he went! He clearly didn't do what he was bloody well told, now did he?"

There was just the briefest moment of silence before Dumbledore stood, the gentle smile gone from his lips. "If Harry returns to this house, you will contact me immediately," he instructed, a hard and unfamiliar edge to his tone. It was an edge that made Vernon and Petunia immediately nod for fear of the consequences.

After making sure the Dursleys wouldn't be disappointing him again, Albus took his leave of the now quiet home, followed closely by a worried Remus and Tonks.

"Now what are we suppose to do?" she asked, glancing up and down the street. "For all we know, thanks to that lot, Voldemort could already have Harry."

"Remus, take Tonks and search the area surrounding Bastien's Store. If I recall correctly, you shall locate it on the southern end of Saint Andrews Drive," Albus instructed calmly, his eyes focusing on a spot in the distance. He knew Harry wouldn't be there, however, it was apparent that keeping Tonks busy was a must. "If you find him, you must bring him to Hogwarts, rather then Headquarters. It's not like Harry to just wander off without contacting anyone. He may not be himself."

"You don't think-"

"I think it's best not to rule out any possibilities."

The truth behind those words did nothing to ease the worry Remus felt as he watched Albus stroll leisurely back down the street. There were some possibilities that the Werewolf simply didn't want to contemplate.

* * *

Even when his eyes were closed tightly, the light invaded his mind. He simply couldn't hide from it, no matter how hard he struggled. The bright flashes lit up the darkness with ease, allowing, what felt like, all aspects of himself to be barred. Never had he felt so completely exposed. It was as though calloused fingers were prying apart his every thought, the movement echoing loudly through his mind.

From the corner of his limited vision, Harry spotted thick, dark tendrils starting to creep toward him. Their colour complimented the very idea of eternal darkness. There was absolutely nothing that could penetrate it. Anything it touched seemed to be engulfed and there was a part of Harry that could do nothing but yearn for the peace he knew the darkness offered. To be swallowed completely, protected from the harsh light and invading presence was something Harry desperately wanted.

As though sensing his desires, the tendrils started to each their way closer, moving with an almost forceful determination. There was something all together wrong with the way they moved, but Harry's fevered mind was far beyond noticing. As they came closer, the dark whips of shadows swallowed the light, creating darkness and shadow in its stead. Eternity seemed to pass as Harry waited for the first tendril to reach him. When it did, the darkness seemed to caress his pale skin and calm his rapidly beating heart. The smallest sigh of contentment slipped past his lips as the darkness began to wrap Harry in a protective embrace of it's own.

"Wake up."

_No._

"Open your eyes."

…  _No._

"If you don't break free now you will be forever lost within the darkness inside of you. If you allow the darkness to control you it will mean your end and the end of your line."

As the familiar voice continued to whisper, Harry could feel the darkness coiling around him as a snake coils around it's prey, breaking bones and suffocating the life from him. The atmosphere had changed without him noticing. This wasn't the soothing quiet he had longed for.

_Stop. Let go!_

Despite his pleas, Harry continued to sink deeper into the darkness that had, only a moment ago, seemed like a blessing. Now it held nothing more than the chilling familiarity of a grave, his voice forever echoing through the darkness.

"WAKE UP!"

Harry's eyes snapped open, a terrified gasp still clinging to his lips. Gone were the harsh lights, the darkness, and sinking feeling of an overwhelming despair. A rushing sense of relief flooded through him as his eyes landed on the image of bedroom furniture rather than darkness. For just a moment, he allowed the feeling to stretch to his very core, however, it wasn't to last. None of his surroundings were familiar: the bed, the walls, the mirror, nothing. This room wasn't his and the panic was already starting to claw at his chest, his muscles stiff beneath his chilled skin.

"You are in no danger here."

With a surprised gasp, Harry sat up, his head spinning and his muscles screaming their protest. "What's going on?" he demanded, his teeth gritting against the pain as his fingers crept toward the pocket his wand was normally kept. A portion of his memory was simply gone. It was a gaping hole in the middle of his mind. "Who are you?

"I am Soren Lotharien, and I am one of three High Lords residing over the British Realm."

"What?"

"The British Realm. All communities of the Elves are removed from that of the Wizarding world. We do not like to find ourselves involved in the petty problems of men, much preferring to remain within our own realms."

"Elves?" An image of Dobby immediately invaded Harry's mind and he nervously let his eyes can the room briefly to see if the small creature was somehow involved.

For the second time, soft laughter and a hint of amusement danced behind onyx eyes. "All shall be explained, of that you have my word. For the moment, however, you must drink and regain your strength. Your body has exhausted itself during the change. It will be a few hours yet before you are back to full strength."

Harry's fingers carefully wrapped around the crystal goblet he was handed, a deep scarlet liquid pointing the side of the glass as it moved. Despite it's continuous presence, Harry couldn't force himself to worry about the discomfort and tension that coursed through his muscles. How could he when he was much more concerned with trying to figure out what was happening. Despite the exhaustion his mind was curtained with, Harry kept attempting to piece together and explanation. He was positive that quite a few pieces were missing.

"Drink. It will help greatly."

Harry glanced down at the goblet in his hands, a slight frown marring his features. If they had any intention of harming him, surely they would have already attempted it. Bringing the goblet to his mouth, his hands shaking slightly, and took a sip. The sensation was shocking, to put it simply. The liquid slid over his tongue and down his throat with ease, tingling and warm as though it was stretching to reach every inch of him.

"You must drink as much of the liquid as you can," Soren's calm voice cut across the relaxed stupor that had immediately settled over him, "otherwise it will be ineffective."

 _Ineffective? How could anything that felt this good be ineffective?_  Harry wondered vaguely, bringing the goblet to his mouth once more. He continued to drink the strange liquid, gulp after gulp, until the pleasant warm sensations had grown to a painful burning that seemed to linger beneath his ribcage. "No more," he gasped, trying to take in air, "no more!"

"That shall suffice," Soren nodded, stepping forward to take the glass from Harry's shaking hand and eyeing the small amount of liquid that remained. "The pain will ease as your body replaces the impure blood that it has dispelled."

"Impure blood?" He hadn't thought it possible, but Harry was now more confused then ever.

Soren smiled gently, having seen many young Elves through their change. Patience certainly wasn't an issue. It had been something Soren had learned many years ago. In a single, fluid motion, Soren stood and extended a hand. "Come, it is best if you see the results for yourself. I don't believe you will be too disappointed. The change has treated you kindly."

The moment Soren had extended his hand, Harry was hit with the strongest urge to retreat back to his earlier state of sleep. He was suddenly not so sure he wanted to know what had happened. With more than a little trepidation, Harry finally scraped together enough of his Gryffindor courage to reach out and accept Soren's hand.

Soren held him steady as Harry walked on shaky legs. Harry wondered briefly if this was what learning to walk had felt like. With careful and slow steps, the two men moved as one until they were standing in front of a beautiful full-length mirror. It took a moment before Harry found his image in the reflective surface, when they did green eyes widened almost comically, his jaw corresponding as it dropped in surprise. He barely recognized the person in front of him. This wasn't Harry Potter. This was some exotic being he'd never before seen.

His hair had remained the same length it had been when he'd left the Dursleys but it appeared far more smooth and silky, falling down and framing his now pale face. The summer tan he'd earned from spending long hours in the sun doing yard work had all but vanished, leaving him with a pale, milky complexion, creating a dazzling contrast to the dark shade of his hair. His eyes were no longer hidden behind wire frames and thick glasses, allowing the bright, almost ethereal, colour to show clearly. As for his height, it seemed that he had not been finished. He now stood at an even five feet, eleven inches: a height he never though he'd reach. His muscle mass had also shifted. Rather than being located in his stomach, legs, and forearms, it was now more evenly spread, which gave him an overall toned appearance. Instead of a Quidditch build, his body resembled that of a runner.

Even though his appearance was striking, the height, the eyes, nor the hair was what caught his attention. It was his ears. Long slender ears peaked out from the dark curtain of hair. In fascination, he watched himself in the mirror as he lifted a hand, brushing back his hair, and touched the tip. The sensation proved to himself that they were, in fact, real and extremely sensitive. He wasn't dreaming.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice faint as he caught Soren's eye in the mirror. "What have I become?"

"You're a Dark Elf," Soren responded, offering him a gentle smile. "And not just any Elf. You're the Dark Prince of the British Realm. We've been waiting five generations for your arrival."

Suddenly Harry no longer felt like he could stand. The breath seemed to rush out of him and he was trying desperately to find it again. Another responsibility? Another so-called destiny? "You've got to be kidding," he eventually whispered, the question coming out with a nervous laugh. "I couldn't possibly-"

"I would never joke about such things," Soren said, seriously. "There has not been a Dark Elf in the Potter line for five generations. In the Elven Councils one's place can only be inherited through direct blood connection. This council has been struggling without a ruler for far too long. It is time that you took your place among us."

Harry could do nothing but shake his head, his mind frantically trying to think up some sort of explanation: a way out. "No … I can't. It's not possible. If I had Elven blood in my family I would know. Someone would have known!"

"You cannot fight this, Harry. The Fates have made your path clear. There is no point in attempting to run for they have an uncanny ability to discover you, no matter where you choose to hide. Your destiny will continue to haunt you until you accept your true place in the world.

"Are you insane? I can't  _rule_  anything!"

"You will do splendidly. It is in your blood, after all. Fate has chosen you for a reason, Harry. When the time comes you will understand what you'll have to do." Soren wasn't stupid, he could see the terror hidden in the depths of Harry's eyes and he couldn't hold that against him. He was born into a rather large responsibility and he had not been given the necessary amount of time to grow accustomed to that responsibility. "If you stumble along the way you have three High Lords beneath you, each one ready and willing to hold out a steadying hand when the need arises. We have managed since the death of the last Dark Prince, but the people need to be united under a one figurehead. Tradition calls for it."

"This is crazy.  _You_  are crazy!"

"You do not need to doubt yourself. It is pointless. This is your destiny, like it or not, and you will learn to be confident in yourself. In time you will find the strength that lies within you," Soren soothed, his voice calm and confident. "If you allow fate to take its courses the struggles in your life will lesson. Things will become easier."

"Things will become easier?" Harry asked, incredulously. "Do you know who I am? Do you know what Voldemort will do to get a hold of me? He'll tear this entire place apart just to reach me and you want me to stand up and be a figurehead?"

"You need not worry about this Voldemort character. If you take your rightful place you will be surmised at who will be willing to stand at your side."

"Oh great. An even bigger list of casualties."

Soren, despite his best efforts, was starting to feel impatience stir at the back of his mind. The boy was still quite young and had dealt with more than his fair share of tragedies, so it was expected for him to be sceptical. Above all else, Sore had to remember that. "I will be blunt, Harry. If you do not accept who you are, you will die."

Silence met this particular statement. It was the kind of silence that lingered heavily in the air. Harry couldn't say anything. What  _was_  one suppose to say when someone plainly told you of your own mortality? Or rather, what was one to say when someone other than Professor Trelawney told you that you would die? Arguing the point didn't exactly seem like it was worthwhile, especially since he knew that there was a very real possibility of it coming to pass.

"Your people have been waiting five generations for you, but I will not allow you to ruin the stability of this council because you are not ready to accept who you are. You need to decide if you want this. Being an Elf will grant you abilities that you never had as a wizard, but you will need training and guidance. In that respect, I can help you. But if you accept my help than you are accept your place and purpose among us."

Once again no sound could be heard, the silence stretching for several long minutes as the situation and its possible consequences ran through Harry's tired mind. "I don't know how to rule anything," he sighed, eventually. "How can I possibly be what's right for this council? I know nothing about Elves or politics."

"Every great ruler has had to start somewhere. Everything you need to know, I can teach you."

Harry paused, considering his options. He had no idea what was happening to him. He could always wait and ask Dumbledore but that would mean returning to the Dursleys, which was something that he never again wanted to do. If he were being honest with himself, there would be no one better to describe and explain the responsibilities he would face as an Elf than another, more experienced, Elf. If Soren was right about developing abilities he wouldn't otherwise have, than he could very well gain an advantage over Voldemort and that was something he didn't want to give up lightly. It could mean the difference between life and death. On the other hand, if he agreed to this he would be the ruler of an entire kingdom. That wasn't something to take lightly either. People would be depending on him and every decision he made would be affecting the lives of hundreds of people.

"You will not be alone in this."

Harry glanced up, torn from his internal musings.

"I can understand that the idea of ruling can be very intimidating but you will not be alone. The role of a High Lord is to help you make decisions that will help the entire Kingdom. It is impossible for a single individual to know the wants and needs of all the people and that is where we come in. I, for example, reside in the eastern corner of this realm. I shall give you insight into what is needed in those lands."

Harry took a deep breath, weighing this new piece of information and the options presented before him. "Okay … um, if I was to … accept my role here, what would … how would this work?"

Soren hid a smile. Harry didn't need to say anything more. Things were falling into place, as they should. Despite Harry's unease and fear, he was taking the first steps that would lead him down his true path. "First thing, I and the other High Lords will continue to keep everything in order while you study and learn everything from politics to etiquette. As you progress we will transfer more and more responsibility to your shoulders until you are able to rule confidently."

"Okay. That sounds all right … I think."

Soren nodded, leaning back in his seat. It would be a trying time, he knew, but he had no doubt about Harry's abilities. They were unrefined at the moment, but it would only be a matter of time.

"I'm going to have to know a lot of people … aren't I?" Harry asked, his mind bringing up more issues he wasn't exactly comfortable with. "I don't exactly like being in the spotlight. I get a lot of attention in the Wizarding world and it isn't something I enjoy."

"You need not worry about being thrust into the limelight. In the current situation the people of the British Realm are aware that you have been found, but until you are ready you will not be placed in full view. The British Realm isn't the only Kingdom of Elves. There are eight other realms in eight other countries. Some of them are Dark Elves and some are Light. In the past, a great ball was organized in order to introduce a new ruler to the other realms, but, in this case, I believe it might be better if we arrange for a more personal meeting with the other rulers before holding a large function. This way you will be able to become comfortable bit by bit."

Harry had paled at the mention of meeting eight other courts. That would mean a ruler, and three High Lords, not to mention any spouses that might come along. He wasn't very good with names and he was sure that he was going to mess something up. "I think I like the more personal visits."

"I figured that might be the case," Soren chuckled, lightly.

"When did you plan on starting the meetings? I mean I've only just been through this change. I'm sure the entire Wizarding world is looking for me and I still have no idea how any of this happened. To be honest, I don't think it's really even sunk in."

"Your first step will be to learn your own court before you attempt to learn that of others. In order to be a successful ruler you will need to build strong relationships with the people closest to you. This must be done before anything else can be considered."

Harry nodded, leaning back against the headboard, intently listening to what Soren was explaining. He was still nervous about the entire situation but he had all but agreed to this. He wasn't about to screw everything up this early.

"The court is made up of an entirety of fourteen people. A Dark Prince, followed by three High Lords and their consorts," Soren explained. "Although it isn't common, there are situations were a Consort is replaced with a second. Instead of a Lord's mate ruling at their side they have taken a second, who is an individual more suited to ruling than the Consort. Your High Lord of the Western lands, is a perfect example."

Harry remained quiet, carefully storing away the information he was being given. He didn't know how much he was going to recall, but he was hoping for at least the basics.

"Each of the three High Lords resides over a section of the British realm. You're residence is located in the Northern section of the realm. I am the Lord of the Eastern Lands. My consort Rosalind rules at my side. Lothair, the man who had accompanied me in locating you, is the High Lord of the Western lands. In his case, he has a second ruling at his side. His second is Arsen Greenbowe, a true equestrian. Finally, the Lady of the Southern Lands goes by the name of Ilaria. By her side is her consort Caedmon. Beneath the High Lords there are five Royal Healers and a High Seer. There names you will learn during your first introduction. It is a tradition that had long been held within this realm.

Harry nodded, silently running over the list of names for a second time. He was pretty sure that he would need to be reminded several times in the future before they stuck. Silently doing the math, he frowned. "That's only thirteen. I thought you said there was fourteen people in the council?"

Soren remained silent for a long moment. This was usually the part of the explanation that gave him the most trouble. The individuals in question would respond one of two ways. Either they loved it or they loathed it. "Yes, there will also be a High Consort."

"A High Consort?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds important. Who is it?"

"We don't know?"

"Why not?"

"Dark Elves are similar to other magical creatures in one aspect. When we love it is with every part of our hearts. We are a very conservative race and we do not share our bodies with anyone except our mates … our consorts."

"A mate?" Harry frowned, not at all liking the sound of that. "You mean you don't have a choice in who you love?"

While he didn't like to think of it in those terms, Soren nodded. "You won't have a choice, per say. Fate already has a plan for you, which includes the identity of your Consort."

"Wait."

Soren paused. He could see the wheels turning in Harry's head and he prepared himself for the coming reaction.

"High Consort," Harry muttered. "That's not just any consort … that's  _my_  consort, isn't it?"

"Yes."

It took another moment of silence before the predicted reaction came about. "

"I can't have a mate! Voldemort will kill them!"

The older Elf restrained the urge to roll his eyes. "If it is their destiny to die by the hand of Voldemort than it will happen. It does not matter whether or not their destiny is ties to you. You  _must_  let fate take its course."

"How can I even ask someone to step directly into the line of fire? To put themselves at risk like that is a step short of suicide!" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit. "How am I supposed to find my Consort, anyway? Do you have some ridiculous ritual for that too?"

"You will not be able to ask them anything. When you find them there will be nothing more important than being with them. They will become your world," Soren explained, a fond look in his eyes as he did. "And no, there is no ceremony. You will find your mate and complete the bonds between you when you are ready."

"When I'm ready?"

"Yes."

"And how do I know I'm ready? What if I meet my Consort and completely miss the signs? What happens then?"

"You have to trust fate. That is the key to a happy existence," Soren responded, calmly. He hated to repeat himself, but Harry needed to understand the importance of fate. "Until you do that you will be full of doubt. Once that doubt has cleared you will find everything in which you seek. Your Consort will not take their place until you are strong enough, both mentally and physically, to provide and protect them."

Harry opened his mouth to ask another question, but hesitated, unsure of how he should breach the subject. The Wizarding world was semi-tolerant and the Muggle world was hardly tolerant. He had no idea what a society of magical creatures would react. "What if a person isn't looking for … someone of the opposite sex?"

"Your Consort is not chosen on gender or appearance and your love will not be based on that either. You will be paired with someone who is your equal, someone of opposite characteristics. Someone to offer you balance, to make you whole. Gender does not matter."

"So there are no prejudices about same sex couples?"

"I should hope not. The Dark Princess of Japan and her Consort are both female," Soren smiled. "Love knows no boundaries in any race. You and I will live far longer than the social norms of the world around us. In fifty years the individuals who are creating the borders surrounding what is socially acceptable will be dead or dying and new individuals will take their place and create their own ideas. You and I will watch the change come and go for many years. It is not for us to conform to their guidelines because we will outlive them."

Harry was both upset and content with his answer. He was content because his sexual preference would not be condemned, however, he was upset with the life span attached to his new role. He may live for centuries but those he loved and cared about would not. He would ultimately have to watch as they grew older and passed on, leaving him one by one.

Soren read the emotions that flashed across Harry's face as only one who had seen it a thousand times before could. It was hard for those who were not born into the Elven realm. They had a connection with the outside world that kept their hearts tied to those lands. To fully realize that, at some point, all of those ties would be severed by death was not something to be taken lightly. Before anything else could be done, Harry would need to face that and the only way he could accomplish that was on his own. Only he knew the entirety of his thoughts and emotions. "You have had a very long day, my Lord. I will take my leave and return tomorrow morning. You will need to be transported to your new home and your lessons will begin shortly after. There is much to discuss. I suggest you get lots of rest. I'm afraid that will need it."

Harry nodded vaguely, watching the door close firmly behind the Elf with a resounding thud that seemed to echo in the silence of the room. The changes were supposed to stop when he turned seventeen but things had only become more hectic and strange. He was becoming a ruler of an Elven realm and yet he was so tied to the Wizarding world that he simply couldn't understand how he was supposed to be in both. The Elven realm needed him to rule and the Wizarding world needed him to rid it of Voldemort. Both wanted something from him that he wasn't sure he could give.

_What have I gotten myself into?_


	3. A Lesson In History

If Harry had known that being the ruler of the British Elven Realm – or the BER, as he'd taken to calling it – would involve getting up at the crack of dawn, he was positive that an in-depth reconsideration of his chances with Dumbledore would have occurred. There was absolutely nothing pleasant about six o'clock in the morning, particularly for an Elf with extreme sensitivity to light. Of course, having the curtains surrounding his bed ripped open and a thousand tiny rays of light stab him in the face had not been one of his better experiences. If nothing else, it was an experience he never wanted to live through again. Only after the spots had stopped dancing in front of his eyes was Harry able to lay eyes on the culprit. Standing at the end of his bed, a small smirk etched onto his smooth features, stood Soren. On either side of the older elf stood two young women. Neither of them looked any older than Harry, himself, but that certainly didn't help the embarrassed flush from spreading over his cheeks and down his neck.

When they bowed, Harry didn't know what to do. It seemed horribly out of place and he felt awkward watching them perform such a show of respect. Even in the Wizarding world, with all of his ridiculous fame, he'd never had an individual bow to him before … with the exception of Dobby, of course.

"Good morning, my Lord," Soren greeted, placing a gentle hand on each of the girls' shoulders. The smile on his face was enough to break the awkward moment and send the girls off to complete the tasks assigned to them. "I trust that you slept well?"

Harry's eyes lingered on the unfamiliar females as they straightened and moved to one of the side doors that lined the far side of the room, quickly disappearing behind it. "I slept fine," he muttered, more then a little confused. It took a moment, but Harry brushed off the strange encounter and fully turned his attention to Soren. He had a certain bone to pick about the schedule. "It was the early rise that I'm having a problem with. If we're supposedly ' _Dark_ ' Elves shouldn't we … I don't know … sleep during the day?"

Soren let out a deep chuckle, the first real show of emotion that Harry had witnessed from the aristocratic Elf. "I do apologize, my Lord. You are correct, of course. As a whole we do prefer the darkness, however, our early rising is for your benefit. It is much safer and more discreet to have you travel while the realm slumbers. Once you have reached your own Manor, your sleep patterns will be readjusted."

"Safer?"

""Yes," Soren nodded, turning to glance at the two women as they re-entered the room through the same passage they had disappeared, an assortment of fabric in their hands. "Every Kingdom has its rebel forces. In this instance, you can consider those who believe that the realm is not currently being run, as it should. Their antics hold the potential to cause harm."

"And are these … rebels going to cause any problems?"

"I do not believe that to be the case, however, it would be prudent to take protective measures in case my judgement is lacking. Once you take your place as Dark Prince, however, the rebel activity within the Realm will disperse. For the most part, these forces are simply unhappy without a figurehead to unite the Kingdom and they despise the idea of the High Lords ruling, after all it is traditionally not our place to do so." Soren explained, moving to take a seat near the bay window taking up the majority of the west wall. "As for being in danger throughout your travels, you need not worry. My guard is constructed with the best men and women the Eastern lands have to offer. I am confident that they will keep you safe."

Harry nodded, slowly taking everything in. If truth were told he didn't particularly like the idea of having more people after him. He really had enough to worry about as it was, what with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Rebel Elves he didn't need. The heavy clunk of a hairbrush being dropped on the marble floor brought his attention back to the two women in the room.

"I apologize. I have not yet made introductions. Harry, may I introduce you to Aurora and Jocelyn. They are two of my Consorts ladies-in-waiting. Rosalind, having known of your arrival, has spared them. They will be helping you in your preparations for the ride ahead."

"Prepare? What do you mean prepare?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. How much help did Soren think he needed in order to get dressed? There was clearly more to this trip then he had been told and that wasn't exactly a soothing thought.

"In order to keep your arrival in the Northern lands quiet you will not be arriving as the Dark Prince, but as a High Lord. For the entirety of this trip you will resemble Ilaria, High Lady of the Southern lands, and will be in the company of both myself and Lothair."

A deep-seated sense of dread was beginning to worm its way from his stomach in order to dig its claws into Harry's chest. "Ilaria is a woman." The statement was simple, but it clearly identified the rising dread Harry was feeling.

The corner of Soren's lips twitched into a smirk, much to Harry's horrified displeasure, as the older Elf motioned the two women forward.

* * *

"I can't believe you're making me do this!"

"You look lovely. There will not be a single individual within the Realm who will be able to tell that you are not the High Lady."

Harry eyes flicked to the reflection of Soren, fixing him with a dark glare. He'd been standing in front of a full-length mirror in an attempt to connect who he was to the image he was seeing. He didn't like the idea of dressing up as a women and he certainly didn't like the fact that Soren was right. He did look good. "You're not helping," he grumbled, frowning once more at his reflection.

"I apologize, my Lord."

"That does me a whole lot of good, now doesn't it?" It was a petulant statement, but Harry was currently a little busy wrapping his head around what was going on to be bothered. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours he could barely recognize himself. At the current moment he really couldn't decide whether to refer to himself as male or female. All the important parts of his anatomy were male, however, everything else now held a much more feminine quality.

The height distance between himself and Ilaria was merely a difference of a few centimetres: a difference that would never be noticed while riding. There had not been too many drastic changes, but his hair had definitely been one of them. He had always had hair the colour of a Raven's wing and now it was a pale blond with black streaks running through it. After the colour had been changed. Aurora and Jocelyn had pulled it back into a high ponytail, tying it off with a piece of black silk ribbon and leaving two thin sections hanging down in the front, framing each side of his face.

His eyes had been another problem. Not very many people had eyes like his. Even in the Wizarding world a shinning emerald green wasn't exactly common. Ilaria's eyes were much the same shape and intensity, but happened to be a bright blue in colour. In order to get Harry's to match a simple colouration spell had to be used. As one can imagine, Harry was none to happy to have a wand pointed directly at his irises. His eyesight was bad enough without causing permanent damage. It took several tries and a frustrated Jocelyn to get the right colour.

The easiest part of the transformation had been the clothes. The outfit he was currently sporting was similar to Soren's clothing, with the exception of a slightly different cut and much more material. The spells they had cast had given him slight curves but the extra material, when draped in the right spot, helped to further enhance those curves and create a much more womanly figure. He was quite content not to have to experience many changes in that aspect.

Once Harry was completely dressed, the two women retreated to stand behind Soren's chair, their calculating eyes looked him over in an attempt to find anything out of place.

"Well, am I finished?" he asked, more than a little frustrated that not a single member of his audience had deemed it necessary to speak. Turning away from the mirror, he faced Soren with the full transformation.

Soren, like the two women standing behind him, allowed his eyes to brush over Harry in an attempt to location anything that might have been incorrect. "You are almost done," he finally responded, looking pleased with the results so far. Aurora and Jocelyn were rather good at what they did and they would be praised for their work. Reaching to the top drawer of the side table, Soren's hand returned after a moment holding a long, thin pencil between his fingers. "There's simply one more thing."

Harry eyed the pencil, Soren's words doing nothing to relieve the tension coiled throughout him. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Now, that depends," the older Elf smiled, handing the pencil to Aurora, who immediately stepped forward. "What do you think it is?"

"No. Absolutely not." Harry took a step back when Aurora moved forward another step, his hands held up to ward her off. This was absolutely ridiculous. To even think he was going to go along with this was completely insane.

"It's simple Kohl eyeliner, my Lord," Soren explained, leaning back in his chair and allowing his amusement to run freely across his face. It wasn't very often that he could have a little fun with his young charges. "It is used to enhance the colour of your eyes. Ilaria uses it and many individuals – both male and female – favour the affect that it creates. It is quite striking on those who are in possession of a rather bright eye colour, such as yourself and Ilaria."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you must. It is, after all, part of the disguise."

Harry sighed, dropping his hands and allowing Aurora to close the distance between them. "This is such a bad idea." He might have agreed to this silly notion, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

It was strange, to say the least. He wasn't sure if he liked having someone drawing on his face. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't something he was comfortable with either. Every time Aurora approached his eye, Harry would start blinking rapidly. Soren found her frustration rather amusing. Harry, on the other hand, did not. She was holding a rather sharp and pointed object near his newly healed eyes. He didn't want to go back to being blind. In the end, the only way in which Aurora could apply the makeup was to cast a small freezing charm on Harry's eyes.

Once Aurora had taken a step back and removed the freezing charm, Soren smiled and motioned to the mirror. "There. It looks wonderful."

Feeling just a little apprehensive, Harry turned to glance back into the mirror and found himself pleasantly surprised. Despite his misgivings, Soren had been right. It did look good. The black line surrounding his eyes only emphasized their bright colour, which would, no doubt, draw the attention of any unsuspecting individual who looked his way.

"Would you like Aurora to instruct you on how to apply that yourself?"

"No!" The reflection of Soren's amused smirk and his quick denial had Harry flushing brightly. He suddenly felt he'd been caught playing dress-up with his Mother's old clothes. It was odd and he didn't particularly like the feeling. "Am I sufficiently dressed? Can we leave now?"

With a brief, but respectful dismissal of the two women, Soren nodded his assent. As Aurora passed she handed Harry the eyeliner with a bold wink, effectively turning Harry's already lovely shade of red to a shockingly dark scarlet and earning a delighted laugh from the Lord of the Manor.

"Alright, alright," Soren chuckled, unable to keep his amusement hidden. He'd forgotten how entertaining it was to have a young Elf in residence. It'd been quite some time since he'd had someone under his tutelage. "We'd best hurry. Lothair and the guard will be waiting for us. Best not to keep them waiting."

Still horribly embarrassed, Harry followed Soren quietly – and somewhat awkwardly – out of the room. As they moved through the house, Harry's eyes took in all the details. He wasn't entirely sure where they were, but even he had to admit that the atmosphere of the home screamed of nothing but wealth and elegance. The green marble floors reflected the natural light shinning in through the large windows lining the majority of the hallway. The walls themselves were a rich cream in colour decorated with paintings upon paintings of beautiful forest landscapes and portraits of regal looking elves. As far as he could tell, every piece of furniture they came across was made of the same dark mahogany with accents of silver. As much as he loved Hogwarts castle, even Harry had to admit that this was something more then that.

_Malfoy Manor would look like this._

The thought had come from nowhere, stopping him in his tracks. He supposed it was rather true. If nothing else, the snarky git always seemed to brag throw his money around. When Soren's inquisitive look broke through his concentration, Harry forced his body forward and immediately brushed the thought away. What in the world was he thinking about Malfoy for? Clearly he had much bigger things to worry about.

"Where are we?"

"This is my summer home. My Consort and I normally reside here during the warmer months, before returning to our ancestral home when the temperature begins to fall," Soren explained, continuing down the hall once Harry had caught up. "It is small, but is comfortable and quiet. Rosalind is rather fond of this particular property and her wards will be more than capable of hiding your presence."

"Why aren't we staying here, then?"

"This is not where you belong."

Harry frowned at that. Where he belonged? He didn't belong anywhere in this place. He'd only just arrived the night before and, as far as he was concerned, that didn't exactly spell out belonging. His mouth opened to comment on that when another thought popped to the forefront of his mind, nearly causing him to trip down the stairs. "This is small?" he asked, incredulously.

Soren frowned slightly. He had been born and raised in the Realm. To have another Elf be surprised at his living conditions had always puzzled him, particularly when that individual was a magical being. Even a wizard had the means to create a residence of their own choosing. "Yes, this is one of my smaller properties," he answered, a hint of his frown still lingering at the corner of his mouth as he moved them outside and toward the stables. "The largest is the ancestral home, of course, but even that is dwarfed by Jade Manor."

"And is that where we're going? Jade Manor?"

"Yes."

"Why? What's important about Jade Manor?"

"Great, the kid is as helpless as I though. Nice work, Soren."

The cool tone was oddly familiar and left a strange tingling that ran down Harry's spine like ice water dripped down his neck. Turning in surprise, Harry found himself staring into the crystal blue eyes from the previous night. Long dark hair, was pulled back into braid that hung to the middle of his back and, unlike Soren and Harry, he was wearing what appeared to be as battle clothes.  _Lothair,_ he thought, putting two and two together. Oddly enough, it wasn't the disdainful look on his face or the intimidating appearance that caught Harry's attention. Obviously Soren had been right. Lothair was also wearing Kohl eyeliner, although far less of it than Harry and it had a much different effect. While Harry's application made him seem more feminine, Lothair looked simply dangerous. Or course, that didn't particularly make him feel any better about having agreed to wear it.

"Good morning, Lothair," Soren greeting, a raised eyebrow concerning the look on Lothair's face and the tone of his voice. "As pessimistic as always, I see."

"One of us has to be."

"There is a difference between pessimism and good sense."

Harry had the distinct impression that Lothair was trying particularly hard not to roll his eyes at Soren's comments. One could easily tell that this was a conversation that they had frequently.

"Good sense?" Lothair continued, a bored look taking over his features. "You mean like how crowning a King who knows nothing of our ways is good sense?"

"The young one will not be crowned until the summer ends. You know this. By then he will know what it entails to be a Prince of this Kingdom and he will act accordingly."

Lothair gave them both a look of displeasure, Harry's a good deal more scathing than Soren's, before motioning for the stable hands to bring forward their horses. Harry watched as three young Elves led the mounts toward them, a ball of fear sinking heavily into his stomach From where he stood he could seen the powerful muscles shifting beneath their flanks. One a startling white and the other the deepest black.

As Soren stepped forward the white mare almost danced forward to greet him, her nose immediately nudging the outstretched hand Soren had offered her. "Hello, my sweet," he greeted softly, a warm smile on his face as he gently stroked her neck.

When he glanced toward Lothair, Harry found him already sitting astride one of the other horses and it was clearly obvious that, while different from the bond Soren had with his mount, Lothair and this horse had seen many travels together. Despite not having any knowledge of riding, even Harry could see that the two of them seemed to move as one.

Continuing along their path, Harry's eyes moved to the final horse and the fear in the pit of his stomach doubled. This creature couldn't possibly be a horse. Impatience seemed to pour out of his massive structure, as it's dark brown eyes returned Harry's stare. It seemed as though the horse was taking in every aspect of Harry's character, stripping him bare and leaving him out in the open to be judged. By the flaring of its nostrils and the stamping of the earth, Harry was positive that he didn't exactly live up to expectation. The all black coat and mane was beautiful, but the final product was all together intimidating, leaving Harry feeling no better about making this particular trip.

"Erebus," Soren explained, coming to stand beside Harry, whose nervousness was almost palpable. "Brother to Ilaria's Nyx. They look very similar. The only difference is the eyes. Erebus truly is darkness."

"Don't forget to mention the hot temper this one has," Lothair added, looking down on Harry with a smirk. It was clear that Harry wasn't going to get any respect or guidance from him and he was immediately reminded on one particularly snarky Potions Master. Above all else, Harry hoped those two never met. He didn't think he could handle both of them at once.

Soren did not respond, but he did offer the other High Lord a stern glare that kept him from saying anything further. "You need not worry about Erebus, Harry. Be considerate and treat him as an equal and he will bear you forward."

"Is this a bad time to mention that I've never ridden a horse before?" Harry asked, swallowing nervously as his eyes remained on the creature in front of him. He didn't think it was such a good idea to turn his attention away.

"Fantastic."

This time it wasn't Soren who pinned Lothair with a hard look. Harry's patience was coming to an end the more the other Elf started to resemble Professor Snape. His sarcasm and haughty replies weren't making anything easier for Harry and the Gryffindor was starting to get rather annoyed.

"Oh look," Lothair smirked in response. "The Lady has a backbone."

"Lothair! Go and rouse the Guard." The hard edge in Soren's tone was one Harry had yet to hear, but it was clearly not something new to Lothair as the Elf shot Soren a dirty look but did as he was instructed. The dynamics of the High Lords wasn't exactly clear, but things clearly weren't as harmonious as he'd previously thought.

"I apologize for Lothair's behaviour," Soren exclaimed, turning his attention to Harry. "He's not fond of change and I am afraid that he has become accustomed to having more political standing than he was traditionally granted to a High Lord. Once you are ready to take the thrown, I believe that his attitude will change for the better."

Harry wasn't exactly on the same page. If Lothair didn't like the idea of losing the political influence he now had, Harry was positive that the Elf would not be any happier when there was yet another individual above him who held more sway than he. Human nature, it seemed, wasn't too far off from Elf.

"Now, you were saying that you do not know how to ride. Correct?"

Soren's change of subject brought Harry's mind back from the contemplation of Lothair and back to the ridiculously terrifying matter at hand. "Correct." He affirmed, not particularly liking the idea of having to sit astride Erebus for an undetermined amount of time.

"Do not worry. It is not particularly difficult," Soren instructed, placing a calm hand on Erebus' harness. "Step up on the left side and place your foot in the stirrup. When you pull yourself up, ensure that you swing your right leg over."

Harry approached the left side, as instructed. When Erebus shifted Harry came to an abrupt halt, nervousness and apprehension showing clearly on his borrowed features. Receiving the go ahead by Soren, Harry very carefully and rather awkwardly pulled himself up onto Erebus' back. The moment he was settled, he could feel the power and strength below him. The muscles shifted beneath the skin as Erebus shifted impatiently. Harry had the distinct feeling the creature wasn't too pleased with having to carry him and that did nothing to ease Harry's worries.

"Excellent," Soren encouraged, releasing the reins. Gently guiding them over Erebus' head, Soren handed them to Harry who took them cautiously. "Riding isn't particularly difficult. Pull gently in the direction you would like to turn, pull them back to come to a stop, and add pressure with your heels to move forward. The more pressure you apply, the quicker Erebus will run. Most importantly, you must remember to have respect for your mount. Without respect you shall never be able to move as one. Understand?"

Harry nodded tensely, his mind going over the instructions he'd been given. Using the reigns seemed relatively easy, however, Harry knew that it would depend on how Erebus reacted to him. He was sure that if he pulled in any direction, Erebus would be making the decisions. Did that count as respect: acknowledging and accepting the personality and knowledge of his mount? Harry certainly hoped so.

After a moment, Soren returned and mounted his own horse with a practised and familiar ease. "Try to remain relaxed and move with Erebus. If level of tense in your body will cause your movements to be rough."

Once again the only thing Harry could do was nod, his grip tightening on the reins. This was in no way helping to make a connection between himself and the animal beneath him. Instead it was rather making Erebus shift all the more.

"You must remain calm, young one. Erebus is expertly trained and will guide you through."

The words didn't help as much as Harry would have liked, but he attempted to gain control of his body. He wasn't entirely sure it worked, but Erebus remained still, which he supposed was a good sign. "Alright, what do I do now?"

"Before we head out, let us first make sure that you can guide him. Apply slight pressure to his sides. Keep in mind that the more pressure you apply the faster Erebus will move," Soren warned, moving himself and his mount in order to leave room for Harry and Erebus.

Doing as instructed, Harry dug his heels in lightly, frowning when nothing seemed to happen. Other than a twitch of an ear, Erebus remained perfectly still. Glancing up for help, Soren only smiled patiently at him. Not knowing what else to do, Harry tried again, this time adding a bit more pressure. As he did, Erebus moved forward suddenly, causing Harry's heart to pound painfully against his ribcage.

"Excellent, Harry," complimented the older Elf. Harry's movements were still tense and stiff, but he would loosen as they rode. "Now turn to the left."

To anyone else this demonstration might have seemed ridiculous, but Harry was rather grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was go out and make a complete fool of himself in front of Lothair and the Guards. He figured Lothair already thought of him as such, but that didn't mean he wanted that opinion to be shared by the rest of the Elves they would be travelling with. His mind did a quick scan of Soren's previous instructions and gave a light tug on the left reign, silently cheering when Erebus changed directions.

"Good. Now right."

As Erebus continued to follow the light tugs on the harness, Harry's confidence began to grow. There was still a certain sense of impatience coming from the animal, but Harry chose to ignore it. Perhaps once they left, that annoyance would disappear.

"Excellent. Now, it's high time that we leave," Soren called. Harry hadn't noticed him moving while he'd been focused on instructing Erebus, but the other Elf was now waiting by the entrance to the stables. The rays of the sun that shifted in through the open door washed over Soren's mount, making her coat shimmer. It was a breathtaking sight. "We have a long journey ahead of us and many things to speak of before your arrival at Jade Manor."

Had Harry been paying attention to the look on Soren's face he would have noticed the smirk flicker across his face. But because he had been to busy admiring the image Soren and his mare made, he'd missed it completely. In a sudden movement, Soren turned and disappeared out of the stables, the footfalls of his mount hitting the earth lightly. Erebus immediately followed suite, shooting forward and leaving Harry just able to bite back on the girlish scream that had bubbled up inside of him. It was clear that Erebus' impatience had stemmed from being inside the stable. The creature wanted to run and there was nothing Harry was going to be able to do to stop him.

Ahead of him, Soren slowed. Much to Harry's surprise he could feel Erebus slow as well. He hadn't even had to pull on the reigns. When he and Erebus reached Soren's side, Erebus fell into step with Soren's mount. The two of them acting as though they'd known each other their entire life, which, Harry supposed, was probably the truth.

"How long will it take us to get there?" Harry asked, turning his attention from their mounts to Soren.

"If everything goes as planned, we will be arriving just before your people wake to the new night."

Harry nodded, following Soren's gaze toward the hills to the north. He could just make out six mounted figures on the horizon. Soren didn't seem at all bothered by them so Harry assumed it was Lothair and the Guard. He didn't bother to focus his eyes and see for sure, merely taking Soren's actions as a conformation. Harry was accustomed to people watching over him, but, unlike those times prior, he actually felt better about venturing out into an unknown land. He figured having such a large group might cause some unwanted attention, but he couldn't bring himself to worry too much on it.

Picking up a light trot, Harry and Soren didn't waste any time in reaching the others. Harry still wasn't entirely comfortable with the quick movements of Erebus, but it was clear that the animal was rather intelligent. Erebus knew more of this landscape then he did and he currently had no problem letting that intelligence guide them. Looking around at the unfamiliar faces, Harry found that the guard was made up of four men and a woman: all of them wearing a dark blue outfit similar to Lothair. On their chests was etched the outstretched wings of a raven. The image had a familiar sense to it that had nothing to do with Hogwarts, but Harry couldn't quite place it. When he met the eyes of each Elf, they nodded both their respect and welcome. Harry wasn't entirely sure if they knew who he really was. Soren hadn't mentioned whether or not the group was expecting Ilaria or Harry in disguise.

Harry's internal wondering was cut off when one of the four men shifted his mouth forward. A fist was made in front of the man's chest while his other hand was placed over top. After bowing to Soren, the Elf spoke. "I've sent two scouts ahead. Our people may be sleeping but there are others who seek the sunlight. Any sort of contact with them would not be highly recommended, given the underlying reason for this trip."

Well, that answered one question. The guard did, in fact, know who he was.

Soren nodded in response, appreciating the foreword thinking. "Let's move out."

Harry let Erebus fall back into step with Soren and his mare. It seemed that was what Erebus wanted and Harry was not looking to insult the animal. As the two of them moved, Lothair took up the spot directly in front of them and the other five members of the guard circled them, giving them a wide birth. It was strange watching them move into the formation. They moved as a single movement, each member in step with the other. It was clear that these Elves had spent a very long time together and had seen many such assignments in the past.

"So … what did we have to talk about?" Harry ventured, his eyes moving back to Soren.

Soren didn't respond immediately. Before he did, the group had reached the c rest of the hill, overlooking Soren's summer home. Turning back in his saddle, Soren placed two fingers against his forehead and then held out his palm toward the residence. Harry just barely managed to catch the word 'peace' as it drifted off his lips. Nothing could be seen but Harry felt a light pressure brush against his temple before Soren looked away from his home. All his questions were immediately filed away as Soren began to speak.

"The most important thing you must do is learn the history of your people. Through that there will be links to all other aspects of our society, including politics, healing, agriculture, music, skills of war, social standings, and others. The history of the kingdom will take up the majority of your training, but for right now, you must be told of our history before the kingdom."

Ahead of them was a derisive snort from Lothair. Clearly Lothair had a different opinion of what the majority of his training should focus on.

Harry's interest was already peaked and Lothair's snort only added to that intrigue. He would have never thought he'd be interested in any sort of History after Professor Binn's boring descriptions of the various Goblin wars. He assumed his interest was in large part due to the fact that he would be learning about his own family. This would be information that no one else could or was willing to share with him. "And what's that?"

"How we came to be."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, his curiosity getting the better of him. "So you mean that your … our race hasn't always been around?"

Soren chuckled, Harry's look of enthusiasm and disbelief doing a lot to draw the older Elf into the topic. "In relation to the Dragons, who have been a large aspect of magic since the beginning, we are a relatively new species. In the Elven branch of the magical world, there are three sub-branches. The one you would be familiar with are the House Elves. This branch is the lowest of the three. They have their own story regarding how they came to be indebted to the Wizarding world, which is not something we will be looking at today. The second branch is the Woodland Elves. Most of who, as their name suggest, reside in wooded areas or close to open water. These Elves rely on nature herself for their magical abilities and knowledge. They differ from us in their daily habits and their appearance. While we tend to seek out the pale rays of the moon, the Woodland Elves bloom under the heavy rays of the sun and their appearance reflexes this. The dominant hair and skin colour of the Woodland Elves is golden. This isn't to say that there are not Woodland Elves with hair like ebony, it is simply rare to see."

Harry nodded, a thousand questions running through his mind. For once, he didn't raise a single one. He was intrigued and wanted to know more. The fastest way to do that was to remain quiet and let Soren finish his explanation.

"We reside on the branch between these two. I do not say this to mean that we are inferior or better than the others. This is merely to grant them the respect of having been a part of the magical world longer than our ancestors."

"So, did we just randomly appear one day? Like a branch of evolution or something?" Harry asked, not yet understanding how the Dark Elves had arrived on the Elf family tree.

Soren smirked at the interruption. He'd been able to tell that Harry was being drowned with questions. He'd been impressed with the patience he had been showing, particularly sense he certainly wasn't feeling the same amount of patience. "I will never be able to finish the story if you keep interrupting me, young one."

Harry frowned at the term 'young one', unsure of how he felt about it, but refrained from saying anything further. He really did want to hear the rest of what Soren had to say.

When Soren was sure that he could continue without interruption, he started again. "No, we did not just appear. For as long as there have been written records, there has been a distinct tension between the Elven Realm and the Vampire Covens. Bitter wars have dotted our combined history over the centuries and there has been much blood spilled. However, like most rivalries, not all felt the same bitterness and hatred. Despite being looked down upon, several unions between the two clans appeared. The offspring of those unions would essential become our first ancestors. These children have the quickness of foot and connection to nature that the Woodland Elves posses, but they also had the need for blood consumption and the nocturnal instincts of the Vampires."

Harry listened intently, fascinated by what he was hearing. Did this mean that he would have to start drinking blood? He didn't think he'd be able to do it. The thought alone turned his stomach.

"As is the case with most species," Soren continued. "We developed and changed overtime in order to adapt to our surroundings and survive. I believe both Non-Magical individuals and Wizards refer to this in regards to what they call Darwinism. I must admit, while his wording and explanation is crude, this Darwin individual did have a somewhat intelligent perspective on nature itself."

While only having the basic understanding of Charles Darwin, more along the lines of simple recognition, Harry thought it immensely amusing to be having this particular conversation with a magical creature, such as Soren. He couldn't begin to wonder why Soren would have even been interested in the concepts of Muggle Scientific theology.

Soren continued after a moment of contemplation. "Over time, we've adapted in order to survive in our current conditions. Unlike our Vampire ancestors the rays of the sun do not harm us. We prefer the Night, but that does not mean wandering out into the sunlight will harm us. We are what they refer to as Daywalkers. Our appearance has changed to resemble more of our Elven bloodline and our need to consume blood is extremely minimal."

"What?" Harry asked, finally getting an answer to one of his internal questions. He wasn't sure if the disgust he felt was showing clearly on his face, but he hoped it wasn't. He didn't want to offend Soren. "I'm actually going to have to drink blood?"

"You already have."

"What?" Harry squeaked, a grin tint to his face. He could feel the contents of his stomach churning and fought to ensure that whatever was left in there remained in his stomach. He was pretty sure that if he vomited into Erebus main, the horse was not going to appreciate it.

"In order to decrease our need for blood, we've created a method that enables us to consume a certain amount of magical blood once in our lifetimes. This takes place during our change. Do you remember the goblet of red liquid that I had you drink when you first woke?"

Harry nodded, picturing the beautiful goblet the liquid had been placed in. "That was blood? It didn't taste like blood?"

"Do you partake in the tasting of blood often?" Soren asked, amused.

"No!"

"Then how do you know that all blood tastes the same?"

Harry fell silent at that question. He didn't have an answer for that.

"If, like the Vampire Covens, we consume the blood of Wizards, animals, or lesser beings, our own magical blood dilutes and breaks down the blood that we consume. This means that after a certain amount of time we need to replenish our levels. In order to prevent this, we've turned to a higher source. Instead of consuming blood similar to our own, we are given a supply of Dragon's blood. Of course, our sources come from the Dragon's and are only ever freely given. Their blood contains more magical levels than our own, bordering close to pure magic. By consuming a particular amount our bodies are given a source of nourishment that it cannot break down and, therefore, we do not need to replenish the levels needed to sustain us."

"So I was drinking Dragon's blood?"

"The Dominant's, herself."

"And I won't have to drink it again?"

Here Soren hesitated slightly before answering. "In theory, you are correct. However, if you reach a point where you are injured severely, more Dragon's blood will be needed to replenish what you have lost. This will also aid in the healing of such a wound. You will also need to consume more if Fate has chosen a mate for you that resides outside of this Realm."

"We'll go through another change?" Harry asked, horrified. If there was one thing Harry never wanted to experience again, that was it.

Soren chuckled at that. "We are getting too far ahead of ourselves. You will be learning about the bonds between Mates at a later time, do not fr-"

Harry frowned when Soren stopped mid-sentence, a fierce look overtaking his features. "Lothair?" he called, his deep Onyx eyes almost glowing.

Lothair came to halt beside him. "I feel it as well."

Harry's brow furrowed and he glanced between the two men. He didn't feel anything. "Feel what? What is it?"

Soren remained still, his back straight and his eyes arrowed and focused. Lothair, on the other hand, seemed to be unable to remain still. Harry could see the muscles in his arm flex as his grip on the reigns tightened and his horse danced impatiently beneath him.

Tearing his eyes away from Lothair, Harry stared up toward the ridge Soren was focused on. As he stared, his vision sharpened and he picked up the movement. One by one, mounted figures began to appear over the edge.

Harry tensed as the guard tightened its circle around them and the sound of arrows being slipped from quivers echoed around him. Unfortunately, despite their best efforts, they had run straight into some unwanted company.


	4. The Dangers of Ruling a Kingdom

Harry had no idea how it had happened so quickly. One moment the opposing figures had been on the far ridge and then, all of a sudden, they were violently crashing into a golden barrier that had materialized around Soren, Lothair, and himself. The force of their collision showering both parties with sparks of gold and silver. Soren had remained still to Harry's left and Lothair shifted restlessly to his right, a sneer fixed firmly on his pale face. It was a sneer that could only be described as 'taunting'. Their guards, much to Harry's surprise, had shifted into a tighter circle around them, an arrow imbedded in the earth in at each interval and their swords outstretched horizontally in front of them. As though offering the sharp metal further support, their left palms were resting against the back of each blade. For the briefest moment, Harry wondered why they didn't just grab their wands, but the thought was immediately thrown to the side when he realized what was happening on the surface of those blades. If one looked closely, one could see small beads of light skittering across the metal. This strange show of magic seemed to be the source of their protective barrier. Ultimately, this had the unintended result of causing more questions to spring into Harry's mind. Naturally, these questions were left unanswered. For the moment, all he could do was watch as the beads pulsed brightly with every hit the barrier absorbed.

The attack continued for several long moments before Soren moved. Had Harry been paying attention he would have noticed how the two High Lords interacted with each other. Despite Lothair's desire to rush forth, he remained in place, allowing Soren to make the first move. Had Harry been paying attention, he would have noticed that even among the three High Lords there was a hierarchy of power and respect. What Harry did notice, however, was that even in the face of danger Soren remained calm and collected. This calm attitude, in turn, offered a sense of calm to the rest of their party - or at least as much as Lothair was willing to accept. The dark haired Elf wasn't exactly one for patience. Slowly and confidently bringing his horse out to the front, Soren faced the opposing group with a look in his eyes that was nothing but cold and calculating. It was a look that Harry had yet to see on the face of his new found mentor.

"Halt this nonsense!" He snapped forcefully, his voice ringing out far more than Harry thought it should. Perhaps it was their location, or perhaps it was the magic around them that helped to amplify the sound. Whatever it was, Harry had to admit that the effect was impressive. Their attackers stilled, frozen by the very tone that echoed around them. Harry could see the similarity to a quickly uttered freezing charm and wondered vaguely if one had, in fact, been cast. Of course, this moment of stillness was not to last. It took only a second or two, before Harry was able to pick out movement from within the crowd. Apparently not everyone had stilled at the command. Slowly the Elves were parting, a tall silhouette moving through the group toward the three assumed High Lords.

"Your Majesties, have we angered you?"

The voice was low and held nothing but malice in its tone. Harry could feel his skin crawl as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. If there had been a moment in his past when he had ever thought Severus Snape was the most intimidating person he'd had the misfortune of coming across, he was about to become second. Severus Snape could, in no way, be compared with the individual standing in front of him. Soren, in his earlier explanation of Dark Elf history, had stated that the race had changed over time, loosing most of their vampire features. For the first time, Harry doubted Soren's words and this man was the cause of that doubt. His skin was as pale as fresh snow, his hair, long and of the deepest black, shrouded his elongated features. Unlike Soren and Lothair, the strands of thick dark hair were not pulled back but hung freely over the left side of the man's face, acting as a partial shield. The shudder that ran through Harry was something he couldn't resist and left him wondering what the man was trying to hide. To make the situation frightfully worse, the eye that could be seen from beneath the dark fringe offered a dark and dangerous glint. Harry's breath froze in his lungs when, for the briefest moment, he felt himself fall into the direct line of sight. He felt completely out in the open, as though the individual in front of him could see him for who he was. He wasn't a High Lord. He was nothing more than an outsider playing the role that was given to him.

"I should have known it was you, Roland," Soren responded, his lips curving into an elegant sneer and effectively distracting that piercing gaze from Harry, leaving him the freedom to release the air he'd been holding in. "You are like a plague, spreading over these lands, destroying the life you find."

"How kind of you to notice," was the amused response. The lips of Roland had immediately curled back to reveal a single yellowed tooth, which, from Harry's vantage, looked suspiciously long and sharp; easily sharp enough to draw blood if that was the intent.

By this point, Lothair could barely contain his need to face the threat head-on. His entire body was all but vibrating in his saddle, his fingers white from his ever tightening grip on the reigns. "You are nothing in comparison to us," he hissed, no longer able to restrain his speech as his mount took him closer to the barrier's edge. "It will only take a word from me to have you skinned alive and hung from my wall, half-breed!"

 _Half-breed._ The single word stirred within Harry a strong and familiar emotion. Despite the terror that he was bombarded with, particularly concerning the individual they referred to as Roland, Harry felt his mind racing to defend him. He'd had heard that term used far too often within the world he had just come from. Pureblood versus Muggleborn. Was bloody purity tearing apart this world as well?

Any further thought in regards to the term was disregarded as Roland quickly shot forward, his fists hitting the barrier wall sending a massive shower of sparks in the wake of such force. Had it not been for Harry's new found increase in senses, he would not have been able to see the movement. The speed at which Roland had moved was something beyond the limitations of human sight, however, this rush of movement provided with it a gust of wind that far too clearly illuminated what the Elf had been trying to hide. It was something that Harry had not expected, yet, ultimately, terrified his heart into silence. As the wind picked up, the dark curtain of hair shifted and revealed a clear view of a single glowing red eye with a pupil of pure darkness as it's core. The hair shifted with the decrease of wind, settling once more to cover the terrifying sight, but it was too late. Harry had seen and he knew that it was settled on him.

"You are nothing," Roland snarled, ignoring the shocks running through his hands as they rested against the barrier. "You will die by my hand before this is over. I swear that to you, Lothair Talyne. Keep that in mind as you travel back with your precious ruler. Perhaps, if you're lucky, I shall keep you alive long enough to watch me rip his quivering heart from his chest."

Harry had never felt terror like he did in that very moment. He had stood toe to toe with one of the most powerful Dark Wizard the Wizarding world had ever seen and yet he had not feared as he currently was. This Elf was something entirely different. He couldn't say anything in defence. The words he might have sought refugee in had taken their leave long before the uttered threat had been presented and there was no hope of finding them again. All he could do was watch as their attackers turned and disappeared into the trees. As the last of them vanished, Harry was sure of only one thing: Roland had known immediately who he was. It would not matter how well he disguised himself or how well he was hidden. Roland  _would_  find him.

"As I was saying," Soren sighed, startling Harry back from the world of terror that had been erected around his mind and signalling for the guards to stand down. That level of protection was no longer needed. The sounds of swords being slid back into their sheaths made Harry tighten the grip on his reigns. Only if one looked closely cold they tell the barrier had caused the members of the guard a good quantity of their strength. He had never been one for weapons or brute force strength, but he was currently very aware that he was the only one in the group that was unable to defend themselves. It wasn't a feeling he particularly liked. "There will always be those who do not wish to have a ruler."

The tone by which that statement was delivered caused Harry to turn his attention to Soren, his expression quite clearly conveying the incredulous belief that Soren was completely, and hopelessly, out of his bloody mind.

"That wasn't just any group! Did you not see his eye? I don't even know what he is!" His response was projected with far more fear and volume than he had meant to convey, but it was honest, which was something he felt was needed at the current moment. "At least with Voldemort I know where I stand!"

Lothair didn't say anything, his opinion of the situation was quite clear in the way he forcefully turned his horse in the direction of there previous destination and began to move the group forward once more. As he moved, the guard shifted and fell into position with him, effectively ushering Soren and Harry into the middle of their protective circle. Even with his new fears Harry had to stop and note the conformity and unity that stood among this particular group of individuals. When the weight of a smooth hand suddenly rested on Harry's shoulder, he very nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart had already been beating wildly against his ribcage. With the sudden touch, Harry had to wonder at what point an individual's heart could no longer handle the stress.

All that aside, Harry was once again starting to doubt Soren's conviction that he could handle being the ruler of a kingdom of magical creatures. It was, most certainly, a daunting thought, particularly after their recent experience. Being thought of as the Saviour of the Wizarding world was much different then ruling it. Perhaps that was all he was meant to be.

"There will always be danger, Harry." Soren didn't need Harry to speak to know what the young Elf was thinking. Just because he had new blood running through his veins didn't mean he had completely changed. His emotions could still be read quite clearly in his eyes. "It doesn't matter where you are, in this realm or the world of Wizards, you will always face some form of disapproval. What you have to remember is that without a form of leadership, Elves like Roland are free to have as much power as they wish.

"He is NOT an Elf."

Harry was, once again, startled at the sudden interruption of disapproval from Lothair. The anger on the Elf's face was something Harry was sure he'd never before seen on a living, breathing person. His anger seemed to bring his features to life, giving him an entrancing, yet frightening, appearance. It was intriguing to watch the emotions roll and shift over his chiseled features. Catching himself staring, Harry adverted his eyes, a small blush settling over his cheeks. He prayed to every deity he could think of for his blush to go unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was to have that anger directed at him.

"You will not dirty kind by claiming that he is one of us! He will never be an Elf and to call him so is an insult to our race."

"What is he?" Harry ventured, daring to interrupt the tension growing between Lothair and Soren. He was curious and, considering the level of power and influence the two Elves in front of him had, Harry figured it would be better than allowing their frustrations to turn into a more violent confrontation. Lothair had mentioned him being a half-breed. If Roland wasn't an Elf than what could he possibly be? More importantly, why was Roland the leader of a bunch of rebel Elves if he himself didn't share the bloodline?

"He is an abomination that should have been destroyed years ago."

Even though Lothair was answering his question, the Elf's eyes and tone were directed at no one other than Soren. Clearly the presence of Roland in the realm was a sore spot between them. Why? Harry wasn't entirely sure.

"Lothair, you will reign in your anger!" Soren responded, his voice unusually sharp.

"I will do no such thing! You know there is wisdom in my words, Soren. It was a weak decision and the entire realm knows it."

Harry was not only surprised that Soren did not immediately respond to this, but also he was also incredibly confused. The tone in Lothair's voice gave the distinct impression that he thought Soren was responsible for the continuing problems caused by Roland. Despite the dislike that clearly flowed from Soren during the confrontation earlier, Harry was beginning to wonder if there was something else that lay between the High Lord and the rebellious Elf.

"What are you talking about? What is he?"

Soren and Lothair continued to glare coldly at each other for several long moments before Lothair finally made a noise of disgust and turned his back on the two of them. Harry didn't dare ask the question again. He had the distinct impression that turning ones back on their superior was a huge insult and he wasn't exactly sure how Soren would react to that. The tension between the two Elves still resonated within the confines of their protective circle, and he figured it was safer to simply remain quiet.

"It is true," Soren started, his voice returning to a softer pitch with only a bit of trouble, "that we have descended from the joining of Elves and Vampires, but the practice is not looked kindly upon. It has taken years of development and change to reach this particular stage. When the current bloodlines are combined it has varying consequences. Roland is once such variation. What you must understand is that the pairing of Vampire and Dark Elf is considered against regulations only because we cannot predict the outcome. With Roland the darker Vampire blood has dominance in his personality, reacting poorly with the blood of the Elves. I'm sure you witnessed his eye."

It wasn't a question, but Harry found himself nodding anyway. It was an image that he knew would not be leaving his subconscious for quite a while. Not even Voldemort's eyes glowed with that much malice and hate.

"It is because of that occurrence that our people are afraid to combine the bloodlines for a third time. Many years ago there was an outbreak of such offspring. Roland is technically the last of those born."

"What happened to the others?" Harry asked, fearing the answer but knowing that he would need to hear it. His mind had already drawn up images based on his understanding of the feelings of outright hatred that stemmed from the similar sense of prejudice experienced in the Wizarding world. From Lothair's earlier comment, he had a strong idea of what exactly had happened.

"They became extremely violent as they aged. In several occasion these individuals murdered their immediate families: brothers, sisters, and parents. Within our realm this is the ultimate betrayal. The family unit is the strongest within our society and to destroy that which symbolizes the strength of our Kingdom is a travesty that cannot be condoned. We were leaderless at the time of this outbreak. Your ancestor had passed on several years previous and it fell to the High Lords to decide on a course of action. Roland was just a boy at the time and he had not yet reached the point in his life where the violence had taken control of him. He was like any other child in our realm. He never showed signs of anger or deviance that many of the other children of mixed blood had exhibited. It was eventually suggested that he be killed before the Vampire blood could take hold. There was no guarantee that he would not develop along the same path the others had taken. However, in order to go through with the order, all three of the High Lords had to be in agreement and it was my vote that prevented his death."

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. The ties to Voldemort were blatantly obvious. Surely they didn't expect him to do such things? He couldn't. He simply wouldn't become Voldemort, no matter how dangerous an individual was thought to be. "They were killed? Is that still in practice? I'm not going to kill anyone. I don't care what bloodline they have."

Soren held up a hand to stop Harry's almost panicked rant. "You can relax, Harry. Roland's generation is the last know occurrence of the bloodlines mixing. Once you are ruler you will make the decision on punishments. You must understand, however, that the people were frightened. At a time when we did not have stable government something had to be done to appease and protect the population.

Harry nodded, taking a calming breath. It was all he could do. His nerves were still pulled tight. Everything within him was screaming that the decision to become ruler of this strange world was a huge mistake. "Alright, so if you said that Roland was like the other children, why has he become what he has? Why does he want to kill me?"

"Once he became of age, his vampire ancestry became more dominant. When the others were killed he was just a boy: the youngest of his particular generation. He couldn't remember it. When he discovered what had been done, his reaction was far stronger than we had anticipated. Roland withdrew from society, picking up stray and rouge Elves as his followers. He wants revenge for what was done and the thought of having to kill you in order to accomplish that isn't going to stop him. He wants to see our structure fall into ashes, no matter the obstacle."

"So he's more Vampire than Elf?"

"In a sense," Soren started with a small sigh. "Yes, he has a higher degree of Vampire blood in his system than most of us, but that doesn't mean he simply has more of that magic. Combining the magic of two very different species is always a dangerous game. With us, the reaction between the bloods was stabilized. However, when you play with things that are already on the edge they can easily be pushed into an unforeseen direction. With Roland, the magic hasn't come together. Essentially, he has two identities struggling to find purchase within a single body. For the most part, he can contain the evil within him, but when he's angry that ability fades and he loses control of his vampire nature. This slip in control allows for the shift to embracing the darker yearnings in his soul. It wouldn't be such a problem if that other aspect of himself wasn't as dangerous as it is."

"Then how are we supposed to deal with him?" Harry asked, wracking his brain for a solution and coming up with nothing. He had never met anyone with more than one personality, let alone an individual whose second personality wanted to kill him in the most painful way possible. His previous problems were simple structures. This was something entirely different. He was currently treading water, the fear of what would happen with the next wave hanging over his head. It was an exhausting situation to be in. "If he's that dangerous why did we just let him go? What if he hurts someone?"

"It is a complicated matter," Soren supplied somewhat hesitantly as he turned his attention ahead of them to the thinning tree line. "He has gathered many supporters, some of which are rogue vampires, or rather, Vampires who have broken from the covenant and do not follow the rules and guidelines set out by them by their Elders. If Roland is threatened by an attack from our forces those Vampires will defend him. For hundreds of years our realm has maintained a very delicate treaty of peace with the Vampire Covens. To attack a member of that species, even one such as a rouge, would mean the complete destruction of that peace. The only way in which we would be permitted to take action, without destroying our relationship with the Vampire Coven, would be if the Coven was in complete agreement."

"If he's dangerous than why would they not be in agreement?"

"Roland has not yet posed a threat to the Coven and he will not do so. If he remains unimportant to the Covens, he successfully creates a sense of immunity for himself. While it is frustrating, it is also incredibly smart," Soren explained, glancing to the left and letting his eyes roam over the tree line there. Harry's eyes followed his, catching the small movements among the closely packed trees. Harry's body tensed upon noticing this. Surely they weren't still being followed. He wasn't ready for another confrontation. He was facing his new responsibilities with some difficulty and he was really in no mood for more trouble.

Thankfully, as they continued on their way, whatever was hiding amongst the trees remained there. No terrifying creatures rushed toward them intent on the kill, for which Harry was extremely grateful. He was well aware that his nerves could not handle another dangerous surprise. "Well, I think that is quite enough about Roland and his band of Rouges. What  _is_ important, however, is that you learn what you need in order to be the ruler of this Kingdom."

With Soren's words, Harry's attention was drawn back to him rather unwillingly. While there were groups of individuals out for his blood, he didn't think he could honestly focus on something else, particularly the reason as to why that group of individuals wanted him dead. He strongly hoped that Roland and Voldemort never crossed paths. The last thing he needed was for the two of them to get the crazy notion to work together. With that thought on his shoulders, he doubted that he'd make much of a ruler if that were to come about.

"Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

Harry forced himself to think back over their past encounter with Roland, pushing past the horrible lingering image of that eye and the dark foreboding it had created. He was sure that image would be there to haunt his dreams for a long while to come, leaving him far more restless and jumpy than he was accustomed to. "Blood. We were talking about having to drink Dragon's blood if my mate was to experience the change."

A small smirk settled over Soren's face when his thoughts caught up to what Harry had reminded him. "Too right, you are," he chuckled, his dark eyes turning to focus on Harry once more. "I suppose you have questions about the concept of having a mate?"

Harry couldn't decide where to begin. He just saw so many things wrong with that particular situation. He had Voldemort and now this Roland character after him. If he had a mate, they too would be in danger simply because they were associated with him. Of course, the fact that he had no choice in the matter certainly wasn't making him jump for joy. "What will happen if I choose not to seek out my mate?"

Soren's eyebrow rose at the question. He had been dealing with the newly changed for many years and not once had he been faced with that particular question. Many took to the idea of having an equal that would love them unconditionally, no matter the circumstances. For the few that did raise objections, they normally accepted the fact that it would happen, albeit grudgingly. Either way, things had always developed between the intended two according to plan. As Harry raised this new question, Soren found himself wondering if perhaps things weren't going to go as smoothly as they had in the past, which was something the could not afford to let happen. "You will not have the choice. You will not be able to fight your body's natural reaction."

Harry sighed and made a movement with his hand to signal him to continue. "Just humour me for a moment. If somehow we were separated what would happen?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer but a part of him insisted that he know, even if he couldn't do a thing about it. It was far better to be prepared, after all. He'd learned the hard way that running in headfirst rarely turned out well. Someone always ended up hurt.

Soren, for his part, took a moment to organize his thoughts before he attempted to answer Harry's enquiry. His answer could have a great effect on their collective future and he wasn't about to risk a callous response. "You would suffer far more than your mate, if, for some reason, the two of you were forced apart. As I have said, you will not be able to resist making a bond with your chosen. If you are separated for a long period of time, the two of you will feel a deep sense of pressure both mentally and physically. Your body will become chilled and unable to warm itself until the bond has been soothed. You will also be overcome with the need to be close to your partner. In order to become whole again you will need to return to the side of your mate and let your auras heal the damage that's been caused to the bond between you."

"And if one of us dies?"

That really was the most important question on Harry's mind. It was a depressing thought, but one that could not be ignored. A long time ago he had come to terms with the very real possibility that he may not walk away from his ever-approaching confrontation with Voldemort. He couldn't hide from it and he couldn't force anyone else to live with that hanging over their heads. No matter how much he despised it, the definite possibility of death was a rather strong reality.

"If you have not consummated the bond than your mate will survive. However, they will feel a continued deep sense of longing that nothing on this Earth will soothe. I know that this might sound like a way for you to protect them, Harry, but I have to ask you to think seriously about what sort of life that would leave them with," Soren instructed, his voice soft. "If you have consummated the bond, your mate will ultimately die. If your positions are reversed and your mate is killed than you will follow them into death immediately. You will not be able to withstand the pain that will be caused by the severing of your bond. The loss of a mate is a terrible thing to experience. However, if you are the one to die, your mate's remaining life will be dependant on the state of your bond. If, for instance, it is in the early stages of development, than your mate will be able to survive for a short time. The pain will not lesson and eventually, they will break under the pressure."

Harry let out the deep breath he had been holding. In the matter of a few short moments Soren had made all of his fears a reality. He had the very real chance of experiencing the kind of love that many would spend their entire lives trying to find, but it came at the cost of risking the life of an innocent person. As wonderful as the thought of having someone stand beside him, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if his mate was put into danger because of him. Death, both his own and that of his mate, haunted him from both sides.

"This is not something that can be changed, Harry," Soren responded, giving the young man a moment of thought. As he watched, his attention was drawn to a tension that had developed in Harry's arms and jaw. It was a tension that did not sit well with the older Elf. "Ultimately the decision will be yours to make, but I implore you to think carefully before you act. I understand your fear of endangering another individual, particularly one that you will end up loving, but if it was I in your position, I would much rather experience Rosalind's love for a brief moment than to continue to live with the knowledge that she would never truly be happy with anyone else. If you decide to pull away, ensure that you are comfortable with knowing that you have robbed not only yourself, but also your mate of the happiness that is entitled to them. It is a heavy burden to bear."

It was a lot to think about and a lot to put on the boy's already heavy shoulders, but Soren did not feel sorry for placing the added weight there. Harry was stronger than he looked and much stronger than he believed himself to be. When the time came to make a decision, Soren fully believed that Harry would make the right one.

"For the moment, do not put too much of your concentration into thoughts of your mate. Your biggest concern right now is learning not only the way of our world, but also the concept of our magic," Soren pressed on after several long moments of silence. Despite the inner turmoil he knew Harry was facing, their time was already very limited. September was quickly approaching and there were many things that needed to be accomplished. "The idea of having a mate will have to be faced when you reach that bridge. There is nothing that can be done to prepare you."

Harry eventually nodded his understanding, but he was only semi-aware of what Soren was saying. He had allowed his mind to drift as the older Elf had spoken of experiencing love. It was something that Harry had never felt. He loved Hermione and Ron, but this was something that would far outreach what he felt for either of them. This was something much stronger. He had thought he had experienced love in the past, but it had always been relatively one sided. The girls he had dated had never really loved him, but rather loved the idea of him. To have someone accept all of him was something he had never thought he could have. It was a temptation that, even as he argued against it, pulled at his thoughts. His mind was too far-gone to be worried about the meaning of Soren's words, as he continued to fall deeper into his inner workings. What he did notice, however, was the slowly growing scent of oranges that caressed his delicate senses. The scent of citrus was not something he was unfamiliar with, but to his surprise his very heart rate seemed to quicken as it wrapped around him. Beneath the smooth layers of his clothing, a pleasant shiver ran over his skin as his mind's eye caught the briefest glimpse of pale skin.

"Harry!"

His sense of time and location was jarred dangerously as Soren's voice pulled him harshly back to reality, which left his senses in a mad scramble to ground him once more. He may not have been prepared for his re-entry into reality, but he was certainly aware that he had both the attention of Lothair and Soren. To make matters worse, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable under their piercing gaze, as though he'd been caught doing something that he was not suppose to.

"What did you see?"

It was a simple question and yet it sent Harry's nerves and embarrassment into over drive. "See? I didn't see anything?" he responded, his voice far too high and fast to be convincing. Despite his protests, Soren and Lothair shared a look that spoke volumes. It was a look that Harry correctly interrelated as their complete and utter disbelief. The two of them knew exactly what was going on.

"It is natural for an Elf to experience-" Soren's voice drifted for a moment as he attempted to find the best way to explain the situation without further embarrassing him.

"Erotic day dreams about their mates?" Lothair supplied, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. He wasn't sure exactly why he took so much pleasure in goading the recent arrival, but when the opportunity arose he certainly couldn't pass it up. There was something entirely amusing with the way that the boy floundered. Soren on the other hand did not appear at all amused.

The flush that had already settled on Harry's cheeks deepened drastically. "I didn't see anything!" He insisted, knowing full well that his statement was a complete lie. He had definitely seen something, however, for the moment he was confused as to the meaning behind his vision. In all honesty, it hadn't been what he had seen that had affected him, nor had it been the scent of oranges. What had grabbed his attention the most was the way his heart had beat against the curve of his ribcage with anticipation, excitement, and an emotion so powerful that he could have sworn it was love.

Lothair didn't look as though he believed him and, if he was to be honest, Harry couldn't blame him. His reaction certainly wasn't helping in his desire to promote his claim that he had not seen anything. "Oranges. I could smell oranges," he eventually muttered in response, deciding that it would be best to give them some form of insight, before Lothair took it upon himself to personally discover the truth.

"Great," Lothair snorted, turning his horse around once more. "The kid's got a fixation with fruit."

An embarrassed, if somewhat exasperated, retort was just making its way from Harry's mouth as the group crested the last hill. The sight that met them drew Harry's mind from any half formed thoughts of revenge to the scene that was slowly being revealed to him. To either side of them the trees fell away almost delicately, revealing a splendid view of the valley below. Lush green fields spread out after the dense cluster of ancient trees had ended, dotted with various forms of wildlife. The further into the valley his eyes travelled the more dwellings he spotted, each one rising out of the vegetation around it regally. The beautiful sight seemed to stretch on for miles before him before it reached the base of the largest structure within the valley.

It was nestled within the heart of the clearing, comfortably surrounding by smaller dwellings and, despite its location, there was nothing similar between the castle and the creations around it. The structure of the castle reminded him vaguely of Hogwarts, but this structure could hardly be described as something he had seen before. Ivy seemed to stretch it's delicate fingers over the walls of the castle as its towers climbed higher and higher, the last remaining rays of the sun glinting off their high windows. The sight was truly breathtaking.

"Welcome home, Harry."


	5. The Infamous Ilaria

_Albus Dumbledore,_

_It has come to my attention that you are currently seeking our young ward, Harry James Potter. Dark Prince of the Elven Realm. As it is our tradition, we have watched, cared, and guided him through his change and will continue to do as he gains control of his abilities. As such, his tutelage of our ways is about to begin._

_I would personally like to extend our gratitude for the protection you have offered him during his early year, however, now that he is under our care, your protection is no longer necessary. Harry will be taking his rightful place among his people. It is within the walls of Jade Manor that he is the safest._

_In regards to his Wizarding education, he is no longer obligated to continue. We will, however, accept his decision if he decides that he would like to complete this chapter in his life. The decision will be his to make in time, but you can be assured that you will be informed of that decision in due time._

_Sincerely,_

_Soren Lotharian_

_High Lord of the Eastern Realm_

* * *

For Molly Weasley, the letter her eyes were now scanning was not what she had been hoping for when Dumbledore had stated he had received word on Harry. She could hardly make sense of the sentences she was reading. Surely, this was nothing more than a silly prank. It had been almost two days since Harry had first disappeared from his Aunt and Uncles and those two days had been some of the longest she had faced in quite some time. She may have only six biological sons, but Harry had become the seventh the moment Ron had brought him home. It was only natural to worry about the poor dear. Of course, that wasn't the only thing she was currently finding herself worried over. She had spent the last several days doing her best to keep her biological children out of harms way. Harry had built a connection with her four youngest and every one of them wanted to run off to look for Harry. The very last thing she needed was to have all five of them missing. She really didn't think her heart could handle it.

"What does he mean it isn't important?" she asked, her voice interrupting the quite drone of surprised murmuring that was currently moving around the old wooden table, causing fourteen pairs of eyes to focus on her. "Of course he's coming back. He needs his education."

"A Wizarding education is only significant if the student is, in fact, a Witch or Wizard."

"He  _is_ a wizard!"

"If what that letter states is true than Harry is no longer a Wizard. He is a magical creature and the law will treat him as such. No matter how we may disagree, Harry is no longer bound by either our legal or educational systems."

This news was not something that Molly had expected to hear and it wasn't something she wanted to listen to. She listened not because she wanted to but because she had to. As Dumbledore continued, she began to look as though she was going to explode. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth formed a very thin line. It was not a look that the occupants of the room were unfamiliar with, which, in part, was the reason that Remus spoke before an angry syllable could fall from her lips.

"If I may interject, I would like to point out that there has been no history in Harry's family of creature blood intermingling with Wizarding. Lily was a Muggleborn and James was a Pureblood. If either of them had been a magical creature Sirius and I would have known. This isn't something that they could have kept quiet."

Several heads around the table nodded at that, falling into the ever-present logic of the Werewolf. It was true. There was no one who knew the Potter's better than Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. The two had been friends with the couple both inside and outside of Hogwarts. Surely, they would not have been able to hide something like that from two of their closest friends.

"I understand that, Remus, but Elves are very hesitant about mingling in the Wizarding world and would not have made their presence known unless James had shown definite signs of coming into his heritage, which we know did not happen. It has often been the case that magical blood has skipped a generations, even going so far as to skip several. There could very well have been the blood of the Elves in the Potter line without James showing signs of that heritage," Dumbledore explained, his features never shifting and never giving away any emotion he didn't want seen. Internally, he was making plans and altering the ones he had already built. He had been sure he had combed through every piece of information on the Potter family, but he had not once found evidence of them being anything other than what was represented to the public. He had not anticipated this. Something needed to be done to set tings on the right path once again, otherwise, plans that had been set in motion years before would have no hope of bearing fruit.

"What if he doesn't return?"

Dumbledore's eyes shifted from his internal planning to settle on his headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. An old friend, but one he could not necessarily trust. She had grown fond of Harry and any threat to him would set her firmly at the boy's side. A disappointing outcome, but it was one that he had foreseen. His own plans were best kept close to his heart until he no longer needed her services. It was a dangerous game he was playing, but it was one that he fully intended to win with as little damage to himself as he could manage.

"He will return."

It was simple. Harry would return even if all three of the High Lords pressed for him to remain in the Elven realm. The boy would return because everything he had grown fond of he had found within Hogwarts and the world of Wizards: his family, his friends, and, most importantly, his responsibility.

"He will return because he knows he has to."

* * *

Never had he considered the possibility of finding a place more beautiful than Hogwarts. To him, Hogwarts represented far more than just a pretty landscape and architecture. It was the first place he had truly felt at home. It wasn't until Hagrid had taken him from the dismal life of a despised Muggle had shown him a world of magic and wonder that Harry had first felt like he was coming into what he was truly supposed to be. He was meant for more than being a servant. He was meant to have friends, family, and he was meant to feel loved. With all the emotions and wonder that had been tied to his very presence at the school, Harry had never thought that anything could challenge it's hold on him, but the moment he had stepped through the entrance of Jade Manor he'd known he'd been mistaken. He was well aware of the fact that he had never before stepped foot into this manor, but as his footsteps had echoed and bounced off the stone walls Harry had felt a strong sense of familiarity fill him, pulling at his very soul and wrapping him firmly in a warm embrace.

Turning his eyes away from the elegant picture the hall offered, Harry had allowed them to fall on Soren, who's face held a knowing smile. Of course, the older Elf had known exactly what to expect. "Why does it feel like home?"

"Every individual, whether they are Wizard or Elf, hold a deep connection with their ancestral home. In the Wizarding world the Potter line has another ancestral home, but it is merely for those who are not privileged enough to experience the full strength of their heritage. Only a select few, yourself included, have felt the connection with Jade Manor and, because of this connection, she is welcoming you home. It has been many years since she has felt the presence of one of her own."

"She?"

"Ah, I must do a better job of recalling that you were raised in the Wizarding world," Soren responded, frowning as he made a mental note to do just that and removed his riding cloak. The moment the fabric was in his hands, an individual, whom Harry had not previously noticed, stepped up to take it from him with a respectful bow of his head. "There will be many things that you will need to learn, but for now you must remember that everything has a life force."

He had only just started to accept the idea that he was no longer simply a member of the Wizarding community. He was now much more than that. While a part of him was tied to the world of Wizards, there was another part of him that was even now being drawn further into the Elven realm and further from the world he had come to know. "What do you mean?"

"It has been said by some that only living creatures, wildlife and humans in particular, have a life force, but that statement couldn't be further from the truth. The world around us is Mother Nature, herself, which means that the very earth is alive beneath us. If only creatures have a life force than how could Mother Nature be full of life, for she is made up of nothing but elements? Every rock, drop of water, and mound of dirt has a life force and, therefore, should be given the proper respect," Soren explained, leading the Harry and Lothair further into the Manor. "This very Manor is made from elements of nature, from the stones used to build the walls to the wood used in the chairs. All of it belongs to her and it carried her spirit within it. Even in the Wizarding world this is so. Did you not notice how Hogwarts seemed to be alive?"

It was an interesting concept, that was certain, and the longer he spent thinking of it the more Harry began to see just what Soren was referring to. It was obvious with the moving staircases and the knowledge of the Room of Requirement. It all seemed to make much more sense when looked at through Soren's eyes, but there was still an aspect that he was unsure of. "If Hogwarts is alive than what about Magic? I always thought Hogwarts was the way it was because of magic."

"Don't you see?" Soren asked, a smile lingering on his lips, as Harry pressed closer to the truth. Teaching did not consist of merely informing a student of the answers. True teaching came when the student was able to find the answers for themselves. "It is because of magic."

"But you just said-"

Soren held up a hand to stop his protest. Confusion was a common aspect when it came to the tutelage of individuals from outside of the realm. There were many aspects that belonged to them alone. "Everything I have said is the truth. Think hard, Harry. Where does magic come from?"

"Within us, I assume."

"Precisely. Now what are we?"

Harry had never been a great student, scraping by in the subjects he didn't like and maintaining average marks in the classes he did enjoy. To make matters worse, he had never been very good with the obvious, but he thought he might be getting a glimpse of what Soren was trying to explain. "Magical creatures?"

"Creatures of the Earth, made from the very elements of Mother Nature," Soren continued, glad that Harry seemed to be piecing together what he was saying. If he could understand the nature of the world around him than everything else would come easily. "We, to an extent, represent Her. We have our own souls and our own will, but we are her children and everything that is created from her carries with it a sense of her. A signature, if you will. Magic is that signature."

Harry frowned for a moment; working through the information that Soren had presented him with. He truly wanted to accept what Soren was saying and he felt himself leaning in that direction, but there was still questions popping into his mind and blocking his acceptance. "But if we all carry the same connection than why are there Muggles?"

Soren felt a sense of pride swell in his chest. He barely knew the boy in front of him, but he was quite impressed with the sense of curiosity and determination that seemed to swell within the new Prince. "In a sense, the Wizarding worlds irrevocable desire to categorize every thing and everyone has led them to overlook important aspects of the world around them. Muggles are not devoid of magic. The difference between them and their Wizarding counterparts is the level of inherent magic in the blood. To an extent, the Pureblood circles of your previous world have been following through on a logical thought process," at this point, Soren could read the disagreement that had immediately sprung up in Harry's eyes. Silencing him with a small motion of his hand, the older Elf continued his explanation. "Like many other talents, the levels of inherent magic are dispersed through the population. For some, like those who are classified as Muggles, the levels are too low to be able to accomplish any spell casting, but that does not mean that magic does not manifest itself within them. It simply does so on a much smaller scale. For instance, premonitions are caused not by a supernatural force, but rather by the latent magic levels within that particular individual. Pureblood families turn to others of the same magical levels in order to persevere themselves. However, this is not the only way to preserve magic. The levels within us are not something we have a strong sense of control over. There are many individuals who possess a large magical centre, despite the fact that they are the descendants of Muggles."

Harry, while he certainly didn't condone the poor treatment of Muggles that certain Pureblood families participated in, he did, however, see the point that Soren was trying to make. It certainly offered him a good deal of food for thought. He had always wondered how Hermione always seemed to be so ahead of others in their age group, particularly since she had come from a background completely devoid of magic.

"Why does the Wizarding world not talk about it or even acknowledge it? This is the first time that I've heard such a thing."

"It is our will that creates the difference between us. Free will and the potion of choice cause it. We were all created with the ability to make our own decision. Some, like us, have chosen to remember the Mother. Others, like the Wizarding population, have fallen away from the truth. Wizarding kind has created their own sense of reality in the form of their religions and social practices, but even in these varying religions the dominating gods are all representations of the Mother. They all possess the same abilities and while they not remember the truth, what they create does not stray far from it. It is engrained in all of us."

"Leave it to the pesky Wizards to twist everything around to suit their own purposes."

The comment had not come from any of the men, but contained a soft tone that had previously been absent from the group. Along with this voice came the sound of light footsteps echoing through the hall. Soren, Lothair, and Harry all turned their attention to the new arrival. For Harry, the moment was a bit surreal. His eyes found themselves focusing on identical blue irises surrounded by a delicate line of black eyeliner and thick, dark lashes. Soren had done a proficient job creating Harry's disguise, for he was almost an exact replica of the woman standing before them. As she came to a stop in front of him, Harry's eyes met hers and they shared a gaze that seemed to isolate the two of them for the briefest second. When she looked away, only then was the bond between them broken, leaving Harry with the strange sense that he had just been released from restraints rather than her gaze.

"Ilaria. I was wondering when you would be arriving," Soren smiled, nodding his head in greeting. "I do hope we haven't kept you waiting long?"

"I've been here a while, but I certainly wasn't idle. You know how I feel about the Royal Guard: absolutely lazy, the lot of them. They have spent far too long soaking up the luxuries that peace has offered them. I, for one, am quite glad to have a Prince in the castle once more. At least now they have no reason to skip their training sessions and even more reason to heed my warnings."

"Perhaps they wouldn't be inclined to skip them if you didn't insist on making them look like fools," Lothair responded, an almost warm tone to his voice. It was a tone that Harry had not heard coming from the rigid Elf. It sounded a bit odd.

"It's not my fault that they can't handle being put to the floor by a woman."

Despite the general conversation and the brief mention of himself, it seemed as though he was intruding on something that he was not meant to be a part of: a connection between the three High Lords that, in no way, included him. He had to fight the sensation to take a step back and give them their privacy. It was the same sensation that he felt at the Weasleys on occasion. He was both inside and outside of the current events. Before his instincts could take over completely, Harry found those brilliant blue eyes return to him, pinning him once again to the spot. There was something about the Lady of the Southern Lands that set her apart from the others. There was something that commanded his constant respect and attention.

Sensing Harry's confusion, Soren continued the conversation by making the obvious but necessary introductions. "Ilaria, I'd like to introduce you Harry James Potter, Dark Prince of the Elven Realm."

Having only a couple of days to grow accustomed to the idea of being a ruler, it was only natural for him to experience a sharp jolt of embarrassment at the mentioning of his full title. He had grown used to the annoying title of Boy-Wh0-Lived, but he didn't think he'd ever grow accustomed to being referred to as the Dark Prince of the Elven Realm. Simply thinking the title left him full of apprehension and doubt. It was a significant title that he didn't think he could live up to. He briefly wondered if Dumbledore, himself, could live up to such expectations.

"As attractive as you are at the moment, I am afraid that there simply isn't enough room for two of me," Ilaria laughed, the sound ringing beautifully around them as a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. Raising a hand, she touched his forehead. The simple action caused Harry a slow moment of fascination. He could feel the spell unravel around him, loosening its hold on him before slipping too the floor. As intricate as the spells had seemed when they were being cast, he was surprised to see how easily they fell away. Gone were the blue eyes, the multicoloured hair, and the clothing. During the trip he hadn't noticed how strange it felt to be in the clothes of another individual, but now that he was back into his own the difference could no longer be ignored. He was suddenly much more comfortable.

The moment he was back to himself, Ilaria allowed her eyes to travel over him to take in as much of what she could see. The calculating look made some of Harry's nervousness return. He'd had individuals stare at him in the past but this was something else entirely. It wasn't fascination or even curiosity. This was like having his very soul broken open for easy reading. Harry was sure that if there were some sort of black mark in his past, this woman would be able to see it. She would know his every secret.

"Well, you are certainly not a complete loss," she finally responded, her gaze moving back to his. Despite what could have been perceived as harshness, there was a certain tenderness in her eyes and smile that cushioned her comments. "He's a bit spindly, but I'm sure I can whip him into shape in no time at all. He has excellent balance, I'll give him that much."

"Spindly?" Harry asked, his eyebrow rising, His indignation went unnoticed, however, as Lothair's voice cut across their conversation. Lothair had just stepped back into the room, which was a surprise in and of itself. Only a moment ago Harry could have sworn he'd seen the other Elf standing beside Soren.

"As amusing as the current conversation is, we are needed in the Southern wing. I'm afraid your little get together is going to have to wait."

"Surely they do not need all three of us."

"It is of utmost urgency," Lothair insisted, a hard edge back in his voice and a meaningful look in his blue eyes. Whatever it was, Harry had the distinct impression that he was not to be included in the matter. He could tell by how hard Lothair was trying to get his point across without actually divulging what the situation was.

Glancing from Lothair, Ilaria, to Soren, Harry hoped that at least one of them would inform him of what was going on. Ilaria was an enigma that he had no certainty about, but he hoped that, even if she turned him down, Soren would offer some sort of explanation. He had not disappointed Harry in the past and Harry hoped that would hold true for a little while longer. "What's going on?"

For a moment there was nothing but a thick silence, Lothair meeting the eyes of both Soren and Ilaria respectively. Ilaria nodded immediately, something in her stance told him that she already knew of what Lothair was referring to. Perhaps it had started before they had arrived or perhaps she simply could read the other Elves far better than Harry could. He barely knew them after all. Lothair for his part held out longer than his female counterpart. After a long moment of silence he nodded as well, an impatient sigh slipping from his lips. He didn't like being interrupted. "Very well, then."

As Lothair turned to leave his eyes fell upon Harry, a hard edge to their gaze before they once again showed nothing of his emotional state. It was quite clear that despite the role Harry had agreed to play, Lothair did not think him capable of handling such responsibilities. Even knowing that Lothair's fears were not completely unfounded, Harry certainly didn't like to be thought of as incompetent. Had Lothair wanted to prevent him from ruling, he was certainly going about it in the wrong manner. Being doubted so obviously only made Harry that much more determined to accomplish what Lothair that was impossible. However, in order to do that he had to be offered a little more information than he was currently being offered.

"What's happening? What's in the South Wing?"

At the insistence in Harry's voice, Soren's attention finally returned to him. "I apologize, my Lord, but I'm afraid the tour will have to be put on hold for the moment. This is your home so you are free to go where you will. One of us will locate you once the meeting has adjourned."

"I want to go to the South Wing."

Soren couldn't help the smile. "Again, I apologize. I have to leave you. I'm needed elsewhere."

"But Soren-"

Harry barely had time to get the sound of Soren's name from his lips before the Elf had raised a hand, apologized for a third time and disappeared down the hall, leaving Harry standing alone in the overly large hall looking just as small as he currently felt. "Well that went well, didn't it?" He muttered, more than a little sarcasm slipping into his tone. Taking a moment, Harry glanced around taking in his surroundings. There were several doors leading in various directions. He had no idea where any of them went and he certainly had no idea where he was suppose to go. Soren had said that he could go wherever he pleased, but Harry still felt slightly like he was trespassing. As it were, he figured he had two choices. The first was to stand around looking ridiculous in the entrance hall or move forward into the Manor. At least with the second option, he didn't think he'd look as awkward as he currently did. If he was honest, he was a bit hungry. Perhaps if he wandered he might stumble across the kitchens. He hoped he didn't have to tickle a pear or something equally as ridiculous. The last thing he needed was to have Lothair find him tickling various paintings.

* * *

"We've picked up some movement all along the borders. The initial presence started in the Northwest and has been steadily moving in both directions. We've already sent envoys to the neighbouring lands, but the Vampire Coven and the Lichen have claimed that it is not their forces. The Fair Folk have yet to send word. We do, however, have reports of the Lichen congregating on the west side of our lands, but there's simply not enough of them to have been the cause of the ward disturbance."

"And you're sure that the disturbance is moving to surround?" Ilaria asked, leaning over the map spread out over the table and considering the options available to them. Covering the map were small pins, a collection of colours dotting the surface and each one having it's own representation.

"Yes, my Lady. We're certain."

"You know exactly who is responsible for this, Soren," Lothair growled, his voice cold as marble and equally as hard. "You saw what they were like as we travelled. Roland has become too brave. He needs to be taken care of before his presence becomes a problem we're not ready to face head on. The Prince is far from ready and Roland knows that we will be at our weakest during the weeks before the Prince's inauguration. As soon as Harry takes the thrown our power returns to its original state and the army will fall under his control. If Roland attacks before that can happen, it will be utter chaos. The vast majority of the realm will have their defences down."

Soren sighed, his eyes closing as he allowed his mind to run through the information and possibilities. There was truth to Lothair's words that he simply couldn't deny. Harry was nowhere near capable of handling a war and that was definitely Roland's goal. He wanted to see the Realm torn apart and that was the most sufficient way to go about it. "Illaria," he finally replied, drawing her attention. Above all, he trusted her opinion on these matters. She wasn't the High Lady of the Southern Lands for nothing. Each one of them had their talents. He had his flair for internal and external political affairs. Lothair, while having a volatile temper, was a master of healing and magic. Ilaria's talents lay in war. Each of them sat at the top of their field and each had an opinion to be considered. "What do you suggest?"

She took several moments before answering, her eyes scanning the boundaries of their lands as her mind worked on drawing up the best course of action. In such a situation even the smallest miscalculation could set into motion a series of events that would have drastic consequences. "We have several outposts along the borders that could be up and running within a day or so. The outposts at Galëgori," she explained, her hand moving to touch each location as she spoke. "Zalthorián, as well as Antölia are the largest outposts we have along the borders and are spread out enough that through combined effort they can cover the entirety of the boundaries. We should send word to them and have them at the ready. If Roland is planning an attack, he'll have to move through them first, which will buy us enough time to get the main army ready to meet him in the valley."

"What makes you certain he will head for the valley?"

Ilaria's eyes moved from the maps to Lothair, she wasn't one to allow an individual to question her. The fact that it was Lothair doing the interrupting was the only thing keeping him from losing his ears. "Must you always question my judgement, Lothair?" She asked, annoyance clear in her tone. "The Manor overlooks the entirety of our collective lands. It rests at the Realm's highest point. Roland's forces are made up of rogue Elves, Vampires, and Lichen. With the mixture they will not attempt to scale the cliffs on the Northern and Eastern sides. The Lichen do not have the footing of the Elves. To scale would take far longer and draw more attention then they want. It would put them at a disadvantage. They will also avoid the Southern lands because it's the centre of our military strength. They're not going to walk right thought base camp. Our weakest point is through the valley on the west side. It's made up entirely of civilian lands and Roland is well aware that we'll take precautions to avoid marching through the communities there."

"If you're sure that they'll approach in that direction plans will have to be made to evacuate the citizens. If we act too early we'll start a panic and create an easy opening for an assault," Soren sighed, his gaze turning to Lothair who was currently having a hushed conversation with one of the strategists.

Feeling Soren's gaze, Lothair returned to his attention in order to offer his own suggestion. "At the current moment, they're not moving inward, merely testing the borders. If we alert the outposts as Ilaria stated, we can keep a closer eye on them. From that vantage point it would be easier to gauge their actions and determine when he appropriate time would be to initiate any protective measures needed."

For his part, Soren had been expecting some sort of action to be taken by the rebel groups but he had not expected that it would be so soon. Roland had a particularly annoying habit of knowing the workings of the inner court, which alerted him to the concept that not all was as it seemed within the Manor. Roland did not have the skills for divination, which did not sit well against the security of the inner court. As his eyes scanned the room, taking in who was present, he felt a tug at his instincts. Their protective strategies would be the only thing keeping the danger of Roland at bay. While, he trusted many in the room, he simply couldn't take the chance of having information leaked. "Lothair, Ilaria, and the Generals may stay. The rest of you are dismissed."

There was a particular sense of surprise in the room as the sliding of chairs and shuffling of bodies filled the air. Never before had the High Lords requested a strict audience. During the years without a ruler all decisions had been made by means of the group. By the looks and muttering of some members he knew that many did not like the sudden change, but Soren wasn't going to risk the safety of the realm simply because certain individuals believed that they should be included. Once the door had been firmly sealed behind the last elf, a strong locking and privacy spell fell into place. Outside of those in the room, no one was to be aware of what their decision would be.

"Soren, what in the world are you doing?" Ilaria asked. There was a certain sense of indignation in her voice, which given the circumstances, Soren could understand. A good portion of those who had been told to leave where from her own Guard: individuals that she fully trusted.

"Roland knew exactly when and how we were transporting the Prince to Jade Manor."

"What?"

"He paid us a little visit," Lothair added, moving away from where he had been leaning against the wall. His tone was dark and the loathing could be heard in every syllable. "And he knew damn well that it was not you who rode with us."

Soren nodded his agreement. "If there is one thing we can guarantee it is that Roland has an inside informant and they have obviously been infiltrating our system for a good period of time without detection. Until we can find the leak, everything has to be kept between the six of us."

"What are your plans, Lord Soren?" The owner of the deep voice was a man with which Soren was very familiar. Avery was but one of the High Generals. He was a man that Soren, himself, had appointed to the position and one Soren knew would rather die by his own sword than betray the realm. Such loyalty was difficult to find, but quite easy to trust.

"We will do as Ilaria suggested, but rather than rousing just the three outposts we will also extend envoys to two of the smaller sections. If word reached Roland of our plans, he will not expecting the increase. A single grain of rice can tip the scale and I fully intend to tip it in our favour."

"And what of the Prince?"

Soren stilled, his eyes moving back to the maps laid out on the table. Despite the troubles along the borders, the question of Harry still took precedent. Not only did they have to prepare him, protect him, and see him crowned, they also had to do what was best for the Realm. After several long moments in silence, he returned his glance to Lothair and Ilaria. "We have to move quickly. His inauguration will have to be held off until the last possible moment."

"What of his training?"

"It should have started yesterday."

* * *

Travelling through the Manor certainly wasn't as easy as one would have thought. Not even Hogwarts contained so many twisting corridors. It didn't help that the landscape of one corridor very rarely changed as he moved to another. After only fifteen minutes he had completely lost all of his bearings and now had no hope of finding his way back to he entrance hall. Soren had said that one of the High Lords would find him when their meeting had been complete and Harry just hoped they could keep their word. If not it was going to be a long time before he saw any one familiar.

As he continued to make his way through the halls of Jade Manor he was struck by how quiet the building was. In his recent travels he had not seen or heard another living soul since he had left the High Lords. Soren had mentioned that Dark Elves preferred the night but so far Soren and Lothair had been up and travelling during the often harsh light of day. To consider that this new world was not operating on the same sense of time as the Wizarding world was still quite strange. Despite having been up since the early morning, he could feel his energy increase as the sun moved through the sky. The closer the darkness came the more energy seemed to run through his body.

Continuing down the corridor, his ears perked at the sound of life that was steadily growing louder. Harry's curiosity was peaked the moment the sound reached his ears. Having been born and raised outside of this world, he was immensely curious of those living within it. Soren, Lothair, and Ilaria were all very different from each other and although he did, for the most part, like them, Harry was still interested in finding someone who might be a little … younger. As he drew closer to the sounds of life, a gentle breeze flowed gracefully down the empty corridor to wrap itself around him, bringing with it the scents of sand and pine needles.

Turning the last corner found Harry standing in the entrance way to what appeared to be a rather large courtyard. The sounds that had drawn his attention were the collective voices of three young Elves and the sound of taunt bowstrings being pulled and released. Even at such a distance his ears quite easily picked up the rush of air that modelled itself around the shaft of the arrow as it was released.

"My shot is just as good as yours!"

"Your shot is good if you were aiming to the left of the target, Gwynn."

Harry watched unnoticed from the doorway as the one named Gwynn flushed with annoyance, her knuckles turning white with the tight grip she had on her bow while the quiver on her make shifted as she tensed. "You know full well that I can make that shot, Terrak. I've done it a million times before!"

"Of course, you did. You just happened to make all these shots when there just happened to be no one around to witness it."

"Another one of her stories, I expect." The third Elf added, smirking from his relaxed position against one of the stone columns located around the edge of the courtyard. "Perhaps she made it while she was spying on the rouge Elves?"

"I saw them in the forest!"

"They strolled right by the Royal Guard, did they?"

Harry's interest was immediately caught. Could they be referring to the same Elves that Harry and the others had run into on their journey? Was Roland already so close? Harry could feel his skin begin to crawl beneath the light material of his clothes and his eyes darted to the shadows not trusting them to keep out those that would cause him harm. Shaking off what he could, Harry stepped forward out of the shadows and into the courtyard. The sun had already disappeared behind the walls of the castle and the crystal lanterns cast long shadows across the smooth stones.

"Excuse me?"

None of the Elves had heard him approach. It was only the smallest portion of a moment before he found himself under the aim of three bows, arrows pointed at different vulnerable sections of his body: his chest, neck and sides. He had forgotten about the time difference. Given the current position of the sun, it was very and no one in the Manor, save the High Lords, was familiar with him. Thinking back on his actions, he could agree that it probably hadn't been the wisest decision to approach three unknown, armed Elves.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he insisted, quickly holding his hands up to show that he wasn't armed and had no intention of harming them. "Honestly, I was just-" Harry's voice trailed off when their eyes shifted to a spot over his shoulder. He watched as recognition flared in their eyes and their weapons were lowered. What surprised him most was that all three immediately dropped into a position of submission, their heads bowed and their arms crossed firmly against the smalls of their backs.

"Nightly blessings, Lady Ilaria."

"As you were."

At the dismissal the three Elves immediately straightened and disappeared from the courtyard. The presence of a High Lord and several commanding officers of the Royal Guard was enough that the courtyard was currently not the best place to be. A High Lord rarely sought out the young and if they did it certainly wasn't because you were doing well in your studies.

Despite Harry's best effort, he still remained relatively isolated and he wondered briefly if he would remain that way. He didn't like feeling like he was alone. Raising an eyebrow he turned and faced Ilaria. "Does this mean I'm not allowed to talk to anyone outside the castle?"

"No, this means your presence is needed inside," Ilaria laughed, motioning for him to follow. "You will have time to make friends after your lessons are complete. There is still plenty that you need to understand before you will be ready to take your rightful place as Dark Prince. For the moment our time is short and we must make the most of it."

Glancing back toward the seemingly empty courtyard for a brief moment, Harry sighed softly before turning and following Ilaria back into his new home. Unbeknownst to him, a pair of deep violet eyes followed his path. She had been curious enough to risk disobeying a direct order from Lady Ilaria herself in the hopes of discovering the identity of the new arrival. For this particular instant, her daring had certainly played off.

"The Prince," the hushed whisper seemed to echo off each stone that encircled the courtyard, excitement clearly evident in its tone. "They've found him."


	6. Hot and Cold Relations

Even in his most errant of thoughts, the rules and regulations that guided an acting figurehead had never been top priority. Be that as it may, Harry's current lack of knowledge in that particular venue certainly wasn't making life at Jade Manor any easier. Harry found no enjoyment in being the centre of attention, which, he supposed, completely dovetailed his new determination to prove himself. This wasn't simply about keeping Lothair quiet, but it rather concerned his understanding of his own self-worth. For Harry, his entire world prior to his seventeenth birthday was based loosely on obscure definitions of  _'freak'_  and  _'hero'_. His family – or what was left of it – considered him a freak for the very abilities that classified him as a hero in the eyes of the general Wizarding population. This sense of heroism had always been based on an action he could never claim as his own. This new possibility granted him the ability to step outside the ever-frustrating circle of misrepresentation and prophecy that had, for the past six years, surrounded him completely. His role as Dark Prince was something that he could embrace honestly. No matter the outcome he was responsible for crafting this new image of himself. He was alive because of his Mother's selfless act but the legacy he would leave behind was finally of his own making.

True to his previous commitment, Harry had followed through on his promise to learn what was expected of him. He wasn't simply a new member of the realm. His responsibilities would far exceed that title. The moment it was presented to him, Harry had done everything in his power to keep up with the lessons he was being given. It seemed as though every member of Jade Manor was aware of the limited amount of time set aside for those lessons and the halls were often filled with whispered concerns or, on rare occasions, quiet words of encouragement. The tension that seemed to linger around his presence was something that he certainly didn't enjoy, however, it was something that he was learning to accept. Only once he had proven himself as competent would the tension begin to fade. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite ready to do that.

It could not be said that Harry no longer feared what the future had in store for him. Too many varying obstacles still lay in his path for that to be true. The terrifying presence of Roland and the continued pressures from Voldemort were enough to have him worried. He couldn't escape the fear of what the unforeseen future held for him, however, the future wasn't what he feared the most. What he feared was the lurking possibility of failure. He didn't want to remain forever trapped within the confines of  _'The-Boy-Who-Lived'_  or  _'The Chosen One'_. He wanted freedom. He wanted the freedom to make his own decision. He wanted the freedom to be the author of his own tale. Even with his misgivings and the worries that constantly plagued his mind, Harry had a strong sense of elation when he considered what he was doing. If he could pull this off, he'd be able to build what he wanted in his life. Although, he supposed it was a very large if.

At the currently was, his studies has been divided into what Soren had described as three equally significant areas of study: politics and international relations with Soren, etiquette and Elven culture with Lothair, and military strategy and defence with Ilaria. None of which particularly excited him. Harry did, however, have to admit a certain overwhelming sense of relief to know that Soren would be starting these studies. It wasn't that he didn't like the other two High Lords; they simply had a tendency to make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Ilaria, in her own way, was extremely welcoming but there was something all together frightening about her. He constantly felt that she knew every move he was going to make a moment before he knew. As for Lothair, the older Elf held in his possession a personality that clashed severely with Harry's. The sense of competition that had developed between the two of them was not something Harry had expected, but it was something he used to push himself further. At the moment, however, Soren had made it quite clear that he had to face the past before he could hope to handle the future. There were things in his past that held a firm grip on who he was and Harry was nervous to face them and realize just how deeply they had altered him.

The two of them, Soren and himself, were currently sitting among the rather impressive shelves of Jade Manor's library. Harry had never held much appreciation for the written word but even he could not ignore the sheer mass of knowledge that currently surrounded him. It was a dream taken straight out of Hermione's subconscious. The rich mahogany shelves ran the entire length of the room, jutting out from the walls to circle the heart of the room. Each set of shelves stretched from the floor to the vaulted ceilings. Every title imaginable – including several Harry decided weren't – lined the heavy wooden columns. Wizarding, Elven, and Muggle authors rested side by side in a continuous collection of knowledge. The single book that had drawn Soren's initial interest had been located at the very heart of this massive collection, resting safely on a thin marble column. The leather bound volume was by far the largest book Harry had ever laid eyes upon and contained within it the answers to all the questions that had been tugging at the corner of his mind. His entire family was in that simple volume of bound paper and leather. He'd struggled with his lack of family for so long that the description of what it was like to have all the answers laid bare before him was beyond what he was capable of.

It was fascinating and so surreal to watch member after member of his bloodline make their appearance on the pages before him. Every moment or so his mind would question the reality of the situation despite the physical confirmation. As name after name passed with each turn of a page, Harry could feel the tension start to build in his chest, directly above his heart. As interesting as it was to see past generations, there were only two people he longed to find and he was terrified that they wouldn't be mentioned. When he arrived on the page he'd been fervently looking for, the names Lily Evans and James Potter stood out glaringly. The delicate black line that connected him with his parents solidified for Harry the rather limited connection he had always felt with his parents. For once, he felt the tinniest bit of hope that he might now have a chance to build a deeper connection, even if it was simply through a deeper understanding of their heritage.

Soren observed quietly as Harry trailed a finger over the names of his deceased parents. The death of Lily and James Potter had been the very last entry into the book. As meddling as Albus Dumbledore's influence continued to be, the Wizard had proved to be extremely good at what he did. Soren could at least give the man that much. After the death of Harry's parents, the boy had all but disappeared. By Elven law Harry should have fallen under the ever-watchful eye of the three High Lords until it was determined whether or not the boy would claim his inheritance. Lily's blood sacrifice, however, allowed Dumbledore the opportunity to use the protection for his own benefit. On top of the blood magic, it had been no trouble at all to suggest Harry be taken to his Muggle relatives and that extra wards be placed around the residence. Unfortunately, it wasn't a simple protection spell Dumbledore had put into place. Under the guise of protecting the child from Lord Voldemort, Dumbledore had ensured that Soren had not been able to locate Harry, effectively securing the man's unrestricted and unquestioned access to Harry.

"Does this book record everything?"

Immediately Soren's attention returned from his internal musings to focus once more on Harry. "It records the complete history of the royal family: your family. Now that you have been returned to your rightful place, the book will record your accomplishments."

Rather than making him feel better that news sent Harry's mind into a downward spiral. The book was suddenly much heavier that it had initially felt. This was where his life would be recorded. It wasn't going to be printed in the cheaply produced history texts available at Flourish and Blotts. It would be within these pages, kept safely within this vast collection of knowledge. "Or my failures," he muttered, his fingertips tracing the date October 31st, 1981. He couldn't bring himself to turn to the following page. He knew the page still remained blank, but he simply couldn't do it. Despite his desire to prove himself capable of walking this path, the misgivings in the back of his subconscious continued to pick away at his determination.

"That depends," Harry's eyes had remained downcast but when Soren spoke it drew them upward to meet his own. "What is a failure but a lesson learned?" Since they had entered the library Soren had remained relatively quiet, which Harry had assumed was a means to give him some time to digest the information he was being presented with. As Soren reached for another volume from the shelves Harry realized that he had arrived at the wrong conclusion. "I am under the assumption that you have never before heard the name Alethea Caroline Durham, am I correct?"

"Harry shook his head. The name was not familiar to him. Neither Hermione nor Professor Binns –those two being the only ones prone to quoting educational tidbits in his presence – had ever mentioned that particular name.

There was a moment when Soren truly felt a sliver of disappointment but it was immediately brushed away by the seriousness of his task. There was no point in feeling disappointed. The error could and would be corrected. "I suppose this is but another example of the inadequacy of Wizarding education," he sighed, the main focus of his attention turned to flipping through the pages of the second book. "They will teach you how to levitate a feather but when it comes to truly important aspects of this world they are sorely lacking." It took another moment before Soren made a pleased sound and his hand stilled. Shifting forward, he turned the book and placed it over top of the first volume. "Alethea Caroline Durham. This is where your story begins."

The page that Soren had left open in front of him was made up entirely of a woman's portrait. Her dark hair hung freely over her left shoulder, cascading down the pale skin of her arm in smooth waves while, in striking shades of scarlet, her clothing spoke of a time long forgotten. Below the image was scrawled two small pieces of information. First was her name and birth:  _Lady Alethea Caroline Durham. 870 A.D._  The second was a simple phrase:  _To thy own self be true._  Both were written in a delicate hand.

"Shakespeare was not the only individual to find her enchanting," Soren smiled, his tone was one of fondness and respect. "She was an amazing individual, powerful and very wise."

As Soren's description washed over him, Harry had the distinct feeling that he, on some level, should have felt some form of recognition. Was there suppose to be some connection between them? What did it mean if he didn't feel anything? There was a certain depth to her eyes that Harry could admit to being vaguely familiar but try, as he might, couldn't put a finger on.

"Who is she?"

"She is part of your history," Soren explained, turning from the window and the dark view of the horizon to focus back on Harry. "Had you been raised under Elven law as is custom, Lady Alethea would be very familiar to you. As it were, this portion of your education has been sorely lacking. To put it simply, Lady Alethea is, by Elven Customs, your Great Grandmother."

All Harry could do was blink, his eyes jumping from the page in front of him to the seriousness in Soren's eyes. As he took in what was being revealed to him the mystery of her eyes became startlingly clear. He had not recognized the connection before because he so seldom studied the very few pictures of his Father. The shape and depth of the woman's eyes was the very same that defined his Father's features: features that had been ultimately passed down to himself. Even with the very clear similarities, Harry's overworked mind was having difficulty accepting the entire situation. "That's not possible," he muttered, shaking his head. "She was born in 870 A.D. She couldn't be my Great Grandmother."

"It is true that Lady Alethea entered into this world at that time and there has been many descendents between the two of you, but you have to keep in mind that we are not discussing your human ancestors," Soren responded, taking a moment to explain the connection. Lothair would be covering the finer points of Elven ancestry over the course of the next few weeks, but for the moment a brief lesson was needed. "In our world it is only the Elven ancestry that is calculated. Lily and James will always be your parents but once your body accepted your Elven heritage it connected you to your Elvin ancestors."

Once again Harry found himself blinking stupidly. He knew he was doing it and yet there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. Over the course of the past few days he had been given more information than any sane individual could possibly process. What was terrifying to note was the simple fact that there was still so much more for him to learn. "I don't understand," he admitted, not at all feeling ashamed to do so. "If they don't classify my parents as Elven relatives than why are they documented in this book?"

"Because your Father didn't claim his Elven heritage does not mean he isn't entitled to a spot among his for bearers, however, both James and Lily are only minimally documented in our archives. This is so that the bloodline can be traced. They, like you, are a stone in the path that your family has and will continue to walk for generations."

The frown that marred Harry's features was not the result of confusion in regards to Elven classification but, rather, the result of a question that landed a little closer to him. "Why me? Out of everyone what was I chosen?"

It was a good question, Soren had to admit to that. He had watched the Elven heritage skip over generation after generation only to surface in the most unlikely of characters. There was no rhyme or reason to its pattern. The Fates themselves choose who would inherit and who would continue to live among Wizarding kind. Their reasons were their own. "It was your destiny to be where you are now."

Never before had Harry felt the kind of exasperated anger that coursed through him at that moment. "Destiny?" He asked, unable to contain the word of the venom that came with it. Soren, for once, could honestly say he was surprised by the sound. "That's the only answer you have? Destiny? Fate? It doesn't exist! I want a better answer than that! You just figure you can brush off the question with some bullock answer and I'll do exactly what you want, is that it?"

Soren sat for a moment in surprised silence, contemplating exactly how he was going to handle the conversation. There were many things that Harry would have to understand, but the most important of these was that events took place not because one chose them but because they were meant to. There was a strong presence that guided their lives, call it what you will: Mother Nature, Fate, God, or Destiny. To have that concept mocked so openly and with such a level of distaste was not something that Soren had prepared for. He was simply unable to absorb the comments without a bit of both annoyance and frustration seeping into him. "No matter your preference, Harry, your presence here is not a coincidence."

"And having my parents murdered before I could really know them was just part of your so-called destiny?" Harry asked, his fingers curling painfully tight around the edge of the table. He wanted to shove the books from the table, unable to look at the remains of his family. "Perhaps I was robbed of my parents, my childhood, and terrified beyond belief simply so that I could be torn away from everyone I've learned to care about and expected to reside over a Kingdom I've never heard of!"

"Everything happens for a reason, Harry, even that which hurts us."

There were distinct warning bells resounding throughout his skull, but Harry was far too lost in the pain and anger he'd allow to swell within him. He simply couldn't stop the angry words that slipped through his lips. Growing up with the Dursleys and never knowing what it was like to be loved had left him wishing desperately for place where he belonged. When Hagrid had arrived and revealed an entire world that he could be apart of, Harry had thought his wish had been granted. Of course, that particular gift had come with an extremely sharp set of teeth that continued to rip away pieces of him. Everyone seemed to place him on a pedestal. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't possibly fit in. Now once again he'd been transplanted, only this time he had found himself stuck between two worlds. He knew nothing of the Elven realm that he was suppose to reside over and he no longer fit within the Wizarding world. He was more alone now than he had ever been before and was now being told that this was his predestined place in life. It was a jagged pill to swallow.

"Well, Vernon will be happy. I'm destined to be a freak forever!"

Throughout everything that had happened since the passing of the last Dark Prince, Soren had remained calm and collected. He believed that the Fates had a plan crafted for the Elves. When Roland had rebelled and vowed vengeance Soren had taken it in stride. When the Kingdom had questioned the High Lords authority to protect the realm, he had carefully and calmly helped to prove their capabilities. Now staring into the eyes of a scared and angry seventeen year old he could feel his anger rising.

"Being an Elf does not make you less than worthy in the eyes of the world," Soren responded, his posture tense as he slowly rose from his chair. The tone in his voice was one that had Harry instantly regretting his ill chosen words. "You were chosen to inherit the responsibilities of your Elven heritage not because you, as an individual, are special but because the realm is in need of a Prince, now more than ever. Fate is  _never_  singular. Contrary to popular belief, this situation is not about yourself. It is about the survival of an entire Kingdom. This series of events was put into place generations before you entered into this world and it will continue long after you have left it."

Whether it was because he honestly knew that he was being terribly self-centred or because of the disappointment in Soren's eyes, Harry wasn't entirely sure but he found himself feeling completely insignificant next to Soren's anger. He'd been lectured in the past but Soren made each and every word feel like the edge of a sharpened blade against his skin.

"I'm sorry. I – I didn't mean-"

Even to his ears the attempted apology sounded feeble. He hadn't meant to offend Soren. He had wanted to make Soren feel as confused and angry as he, himself had felt. Misery obviously loved company, but it wasn't always misery it attracted.

"I think we've finished for the day," Soren responded, cutting off any further attempts at an apology. For the moment he was not interested in listening to one. "You're dismissed."

Harry felt, despite the very clear dismissal, that he should apologize again. His mouth opened in an attempt but Soren had already turned from him in order to return the Royal History to its rightful place. It was clear by the rigid posture of the Elf that an apology would fall on deaf ears. Keeping his mouth firmly shut, Harry stood and made a beeline for the door. The last thing he wanted was to upset the High Lord more than he already had.

The moment Harry had slipped from the room, the remainder of Soren's anger vanished with an aggravated sigh. He had spent many moons helping those who, like Harry, had found themselves unexpectedly thrust into an unknown world and he had never before lost his temper. Things were not working out as smoothly as he had initially hoped. While the majority of their time was spent on preparing Harry for his role as Dark Prince, the Kingdom around them was crumbling. Roland had yet to make a move and his presence at the borders was making the entire realm nervous. They were currently playing with fire and the entire castle seemed to understand that. Their Prince was unprepared and discontent threatened to destroy everything they were working so hard to protect.

"This is never going to work."

Soren's eyes rose to meet Lothair's as the Elf stepped out of a long shadow cast by one of the many shelves of books. He could not say that Lothair was completely wrong. Clearly something needed to be altered before they could continue. "Call for Ilaria," he sighed, feeling far older than he had in a very long time.

"Even she won't be able to fix this," Lothair scoffed. Ilaria had her ways but he honestly doubted her ability to create something that simply wasn't there. It was clear to him that the Potter boy did not want the responsibilities he had been given. Nothing, not even Ilaria, was going to change that.

"You're wrong, Lothair. Give him time."

* * *

"Do you think it's true?"

For the third time Hermione's warm brown eyes lifted from the page of the thick text she had balancing precariously on her knee, the creases of her forehead but one of the many signs that she was severely annoyed. "Do I think  _what_ is true, Ronald?"

"About Harry! Do you really think that he's some sort of Elf? I've been thinking about it and it just doesn't make any sense."

"Dumbledore believes it."

"But wouldn't we have known if he was some sort of magical creature? What if Voldemort is trying to make it seem like Harry's okay so no one will go looking for him? That bloody Lestrange woman could be torturing him as we speak!"

A frustrated and somewhat amused sigh slipped through Hermione's lips as she closed her book. It was clear that she wasn't going to get any reading done while Ron was worked up. "Ron, we've been through this a thousand times. If the Wizarding and Elven bloodlines are combined there is a fifty-fifty chance that the individual in question will inherit the Elven traits. If they do inherit them, the traits do not manifest until the individuals becomes of age and his magic levels become stable enough to support the change. We wouldn't have been able to tell whether or not Harry carried the Elven blood in his family. Harry, himself, wouldn't have known," she explained, hoping that this would be the last time she would have to go over it for the redhead. "Besides, if Voldemort truly had Harry the entire Wizarding world would know. They believe Harry to have beaten him before and Voldemort will not be robbed of the chance to prove his worth."

"Fine," Ron muttered, some of the colour draining from his face at the mention of Voldemort's name. "What about his Dad? Someone would have known about him!"

"Think about it logically, Ron! Before Harry, the Potter bloodline was believed to be as pure as your own. Having mixed blood would not have been something freely talked about, particularly if they had not benefited from the Elven blood. James Potter, more than likely, didn't know."

The heel of Ron's ratty old trainer bouncing lightly against the cupboards on which he was sitting was the only sound in the kitchen of Grimmauld place for several long moments. "I don't like it," he finally responded. "He just disappears and then we get some random letter in the mail telling us to back off and everyone seems to be okay with that?"

"It wasn't a random Elf. Dumbledore said it was one of the three High Lords of the Elven Realm. The letter was accompanied by an authentic seal."

"Whatever. I still don't like it!"

"What do you suggest we do then, Ron? Using your Father's car to rescue him like in second year?" Hermione asked, nearly groaning when Ron's eyes lit up at the suggestion. Sometimes she really did wonder how he had made it so far in life. "This isn't a bedroom that you're breaking him out of. It's a kingdom. A magical kingdom, no less. There are strict rules about communication let alone abducting one of their own."

"He's not one of them!"

"They think he is!"

"Rules have never stopped you before!" The challenge in Ron's voice was particularly clear: misguided, but clear.

"And how do you plan to locate the Elven realm? Similar to the Fair Folk, their realm is not exactly located on the same plane of existence as ours."

The blank look on Ron's face was all that was needed to tell Hermione exactly what she needed to know. Ron had no idea what he was doing. Settling back into her chair, Hermione picked up her book and continued where she had left of. Dumbledore had said Harry would return and she believed him.

* * *

The soft brush of fingertips across his feverish skin was the first thing Harry's muddled senses had registered. The second was that the pleased moan that had seemed to echo loudly through his mind had escaped from between his own lips. For as hot as his skin burned, the touch of those fingertips over his stomach left lines of icy relief in their wake. Those cool touches only made it extremely difficult for Harry to keep his breath from rushing past his lips in small gasps of surprise and pleasure. The arms that slowly snaked around his waist held the same icy touch but it was the strong chest pressed against the warm skin of his back that nearly broke the hold he had on himself.

Within his chest Harry could feel his heart racing, his blood singing as it was pumped through his veins at an alarming rate. His mind was caught between the cool sensations created by the gentle touch and the confusion surrounding what was taking place. He couldn't remember how he had come to be within this particular circle of arms but he knew, with every part of his heart, that if he pulled away he'd be physically pained. He belonged there and the thought of leaving was no longer an option. What surprised him the most was that even with every thing he was feeling, Harry could still feel the pulse that beat beneath the pale skin of the arms that held him: each beat echoing his own. Every time his heart skipped a beat Harry could feel an identical pattern pulsing against his shoulder blade. Whoever it was, their heart beat with Harry's.

Every attempt to logically explain the situation was scattered with every cool brush against his skin. The fingertips that had been exploring the lines of his stomach had moved and become much more substantial as they dipped beneath the edge of his waistline and smooth palms rested securely on his hips, firmly holding him in place. Another low moan escaped with effortlessly as cool lips found purchase on the curve of his neck, sending a pleasant chill throughout his body. The contrasting temperatures, rather than being an inconvenience, made Harry's heart race all the more. It left him breathless and wanting more.

Low moans he had no hope of preventing seemed to echo around him as those soft lips found their way over the smooth expanse of Harry's neck and then the defined line of his jaw. At the base of his ear the sensations changed. The gentle kisses were replaced with the tip of a tongue as it traced the new curve of Harry's pointed ear. Upon reaching the delicate point, sharp teeth carefully pulled the sensitive flesh between those smooth lips, earning a desperate whimper that drastically tightened the ever-building heat building below his navel.

Harry wanted nothing more than to turn and taste the lips that tortured him so expertly. He'd never wanted anything so badly and yet he simply couldn't make his body move. The touch of those hands on his hips had secured him firmly in place, leaving his desire to burn helplessly within his chest.

As the desire continued to build, another of Harry's senses kicked in. It was as though someone had thrown open a window, allowing a warm breeze to wrap around the two of them and further teasing their heated skin. With that breeze came a familiar and delicate scent of oranges. As the sent registered, something in his mind changed. There was a name. It lingered at the edge of his awareness, teasing him with its presence. No matter how he tried that name prevented him from dragging it into the light.

Ignoring the almost painful desire burning within his overly warm body, Harry put all of his focus on discovering that name. He needed to know who it was. He needed to say it. Harry wasn't entirely sure why, but he did know that only the name was important. His lips parted in a hopeful attempt to let the name slide off of his tongue but the sound that escaped him was not what he expected.

_Tap._

_Tap._

Harry's eyes snapped open. The sharp sound of something tapping against glass had cut across his mind like a newly sharpened blade, scattering the images of his dream and once again burying the name he so desperately needed.

Unlike the cool breeze of his dream, his own room was hot and stuffy. A thin, clammy sheen of sweat covered Harry's skin and his long hair was left to stick to his forehead and neck. The vague memory of the cool touch from within his dream was not enough to make him comfortable in the warm air. With a groan of heartfelt disappointment, Harry dragged himself out of bed and pulling the damp sheets away from his skin. The continuous tapping sound that had echoed through his dream could only be one thing: an owl. Stumbling to his window, Harry threw it open, hissing slightly as the bright rays of the sun burrowed into his eyes. Only after he had stepped back into the shadows of his room was he able to lay eyes on the familiar image of his owl. "Hedwig?"

Hedwig snapped at his outstretched fingers affectionately and ruffled her feathers in a means of greeting. As odd as it sounded, the sight caused a rush of feelings to pass through Harry. No matter how much he had changed, Hedwig still recognized him. He was the same old Harry to her. It gave him a small bit of hope that those he had been close to in the Wizarding world wouldn't pull away from him, now that he was different.

Gently taking the letter from her, Harry scanned the front immediately recognizing the handwriting. Ron. He very nearly groaned at the recognition. He had expected something like this sooner or later, but he had not expected it to come in the middle of the day while he was suppose to be sleeping soundly. Setting the letter aside, Harry flopped back onto his bed. Having left the window open, Harry could feel a light breeze drifting into the room and bringing with it memories of his earlier dream. The dreams were getting more vivid as the days passed. He had been so close this time. The name had been right there, just out of his reach. With the interruption of Ron's letter Harry was now back to the beginning with nothing other than a few hours of missed sleep.

Letting out a frustrated huff, Harry dropped an arm over his eyes. For once in his life he could honestly say that he wasn't happy to have received an owl from his obviously worried best friend.


	7. Friendship & Panic

The structure of the Kingdom was shifting. He didn't need to be within the halls of Jade Manor to know the truth of that statement. Despite their best efforts, the three High Lords were failing. Their movements were clearly visible to all those who knew what to watch for. Ilaria was flexing her muscles and the action was causing the leaves of the Kingdom to rustle. The long dead outposts of Galëgori, Zalthorián, and Antölia were beginning to stir. The thick dust that had lain peacefully over the shields of these outposts was even known being wiped clean. By the following evening bronze and silver would be shinning with the pale reflection of the moon. Unfortunately, the Realm's preemptive movements would do noting but help bring the entire Realm to its knees. The Elven Realm would fall before him and he would have his revenge. Of that, Roland had no doubt. No longer would those of the Manor disrespect him and his. The wheels were already in motion and nothing was going to get in the way. Not even the reinstatement of an untrained and useless ruler.

Even before the rustle of fabric could alert him, Roland had known the exact moment when he was no longer alone. The sound of blood pumping through thick veins and the smell of sweat and fear lingered heavily in the air around him, causing within him a certain desire to still that beating heart. Just beneath the scent of the Elf, there was something altogether less satisfying, lingering in the strong threads of the travelling cloak haphazardly slung over broad shoulders. Lichen: a never-ending nuisance.

"Report!"

"The Lichen continue to patrol the Western border," only if one listened closely could they hear the brief shiver of fear that had lingered beneath the gruff tone of the Scout. "Their movements do not reflect an alliance with the Realm, but they have remained adamant about maintaining possession of the hunting grounds at the base of the mountains. Even the most persuasive of our measures has not been successful in flushing them out."

Even if this particular Scout wanted to continue the report, he could no longer do such a thing once the firm grip of Roland's long fingers had secured themselves around the man's vocal cords, squeezing them until the last of his air was forced out of him. "I will not tolerate weakness," Roland hissed, flexing the muscles in his hand and allowing his elongated nails to sink into the flesh of the Elf's neck, blood dripping out from around the puncture wounds to paint a red trail over the pale skin exposed to Roland's mercy. "I will not tolerate incompetence."

Long before the Scout could possibly form a response, Roland's slim fingers stiffened around the Elf's vocal cords in an iron grip before ripping his dangerously sharp nails from the body before him, the Elf's vocal cords sill clutched tightly in his fingers. The unfortunate messenger had not had the chance to scream before blood began to flow from the gaping hole in his throat in thick, sluggish waves.

The moment he was free of Roland's grip the Scout's body slid to the floor, followed shortly by the torn vocal cords as Roland calmly deposited them. A dangerous clam had fallen over him as the blood from the recent killing dripped down his fingers. It had always been difficult to stop once he'd started. The clam was something he craved and, at the same time, something he loathed. He needed it to keep him sane, but he hated the dependency.

Turning his back to the bloodied mess of his messenger, Roland left the confines of his personal quarters and out into the encampment. He'd gathered around him a variety of characters, each with their own background and, more significantly, a beneficial presence. With the Vampire's he'd created an immunity of sorts. The Lichen, on the other hand, would serve their purpose by slaughtering their own. Until he was able to lay siege to Jade Manor, there would not be a single soul under his command that didn't feel and fear his continuous presence.

Roland's hand shot out, instantly grabbing the rough shirt of the Elf closest to him. Given the current predicament, Roland just barely managed to contain his fury. The last thing he was going to tolerate was a slip up in his plans. He would kill them all before that happened.

"Send out the Wolves!" He hissed, releasing the Elf with a hard shove. The Werewolves needed to be eliminated and he wanted it done the first time. The Alpha Male, while not the most intelligent of beings, was the perfect individual for the job. He knew how they fought. He knew how they'd defend themselves. He, most importantly, knew how to slaughter them. "I want the entrails of every Wolf not bearing my crest scattered across the forests."

There was no need to repeat the command. The feet of the second messenger were in motion long before Roland had released him. The order would be given and the Wolves would be dead within the hour. If not, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

If Harry hadn't regretted speaking to Soren the way he had, he certainly did now. The sound of his body hitting the floor had become a rather familiar sound over the past two weeks. Rather then continue with the lessons on political history and internal relations, Soren had given Ilaria free reign of his study schedule. At first, Harry had simply been glad Soren had not handed him over to Lothair, but he quickly came to the conclusion that he might have been better off with the surly and sarcastic Elf. There was a reason that Ilaria was head of the Realms Military defence and she's taken great delight in showing Harry that particular reason.

As one might have expected, Ilaria hadn't taken it easy on him. They'd started with hand-to-hand combat, quickly moving on to weapon handling. Harry, much to his delight, had discovered how much his new senses helped him. His movements were quicker, his hearing picked up the smallest sounds, his eyesight narrowed to pick up the most miniscule of movements, and even his breathing calmed. He had the distinct impression that, in the heat of battle, it would be extremely difficult to sneak up on him. Unfortunately, for as improved as his senses were, they simply couldn't compare to the refined skills of the Realms Lady of the Southern Lands.

After roughly five days of going to bed tired and bruised, Harry had petulantly snapped that he couldn't be expected to learn anything when he was paired with someone who knew everything. The sarcastic tone that lingered in his voice when he said "everything" had made Ilaria grin in such a way that the young Prince actually felt his skin crawl beneath his light tunic. Whatever she was thinking, Harry knew he probably wasn't going to like it.

Sure enough, when Harry dragged himself to the training room the next morning, he had found himself facing two regimented lines of fifteen young Elves. After their initial respectful greeting (which Harry still wasn't comfortable with) Ilaria had instructed him to take his place among them. He wasn't just going to make a fool of himself in front of Ilaria, which happened on a regular basis, Harry was now going to be making a complete fool of himself in front of fifteen of his peers. He didn't like thinking of them as his subjects. The concept was just far too surreal.

Much to Harry's surprise, the group training sessions helped both Harry's skill and his confidence. Not only was he trying harder in order to prevent looking like a fool; Harry was also able to see that perfection wasn't expected. It was expected that each individual learn from his or her mistakes. If you were caught with your guard down it could be guaranteed that it wouldn't happen a second time. Of course, as much as Harry was learning from these sessions, they did have their downfalls. He could only accomplish so much with independent study. It simply wasn't the same as working with a sparing partner and that was where the problem lay. Harry had gone through three different partners and he was still faced with the same problem. Even though they were quite competent, none of the fifteen seemed to be willing to be the one to throw the Dark Prince to the ground or get their weapon beneath his defences.

After blocking the third halfhearted swing of his opponent's sword, Harry stepped back with a frustrated sigh. They were supposed to be working on their defences, but there was no point when the offence was almost non-existent. "This isn't working!" he complained, turning his glare at Ilaria.

Harry's partner, whose name Harry kept forgetting, bowed and mumbled his apology. Ilaria, for her part, looked just about as impressed as Harry was currently feeling. She didn't believe that Harry was any different from the other students standing in front of her and she fully expected the others to feel the same way. Personally, Harry felt that they should be more worried about annoying Ilaria then throwing him around. He wasn't the one with the scary glare.

"Unacceptable!" Ilaria barked, the familiar authoritative tone dripping from every word. "As future members of the Royal Guard you are under oath to follow through on the orders given to you by your superiors. While the Prince is in this training environment he will be treated like an equal member of the guard!"

Harry, despite his previous annoyance at being treated differently, felt the flush start to work it's way up his neck until it stained his cheeks and coloured the end of his pointed ears. He hadn't meant to have Ilaria lecture them on their responsibilities. That definitely hadn't been his intention.

"I'll partner with him!"

Harry hadn't expected anyone to be brave enough to interrupt Ilaria's building tirade. He had learned quickly that one of Ilaria's skills was a rather shocking ability to lecture you in such a way that left you feeling like you were roughly three inches tall. At times she had even worked a lecture into running through sword techniques. It was altogether intimidating, to say the least. To have an unfamiliar voice break through the beginning or her newest lecture had Harry's head whipping around to locate the source.

For a moment Harry simply gaped in surprise. It was the same Elf he'd seen defending herself out in the courtyard days ago. Sure, she didn't look the same in her training gear, but Harry was positive that this was the same girl. On her feet were tightly laced boots of dark leather that rose to mid-calf and the same soft material that covered Harry's own legs encased hers. The protective training gear she wore was a deep shade of green, effectively highlighting her long auburn hair, which was pulled back expertly into a thick braid that hung down her back. In her hand she held a sword very similar to Harry's own: long and light, with a slight curve to the blade. What was a surprise was the strong oak bow and quiver of arrows strung across her back. Only a handful of the Elves in the group carried a bow and hers was different still. Even from where he stood, Harry could see the delicate patterns painstakingly carved into the wood of not only the bow but the arrows as well. If nothing else, it was quite clear that her weapons – or at least that one in particular – meant a great deal to her.

 _Gwynn._  That was her name.

"I'll partner with him." She repeated amongst the disapproving murmur of their fellow classmates. It was clear that they did not think it appropriate that she willingly offer to play the role, which only added to Harry's annoyance. He might be royalty but he still needed to learn. In this aspect he was just like everyone else and he really wished the majority of the group would accept the idea.

He was intrigued, naturally. In the time that he had been within the Realm, Harry had encountered no other Elves his age outside of the training environment. Sure, he liked the High Lords – or most of them anyway – but there was something very different about talking to someone your own age. After all, he liked Professor McGonagall but that didn't mean he was going to invite her over for a game of chess. Harry knew what the problem was. It was simply, really. He missed Ron and Hermione. At the same time, however, he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to face his best friends. His sudden inheritance would surely be something Hermione would want to study and Harry really didn't want to end up as an essay topic. Ron, on the other hand, proved to be an even bigger worry than Hermione. Harry's sudden change was bound to draw unwanted attention and Ron hated being pushed off to the side. Harry was positive the red head wasn't going to be at all pleased with any increase in Harry's already elevated status. For Ron, it was often a very difficult thing to be the friend of ' _The Chosen One'_  and the smartest Witch of their year.

As much as these thoughts had been plaguing Harry's mind as of late, he couldn't hold on to them once Gwynn lunged forward with Ilaria's nod of acceptance, her sword held firmly in her hand and dangerously accurate. Harry's mind was now focused only on not falling prey to sharp bite of Gwynn's sword. His own weapon, after several days of intense training, had finally started to feel comfortable in his grasp, but it certainly wasn't wielded with as much skill as his counterpart. Having had barely enough time to defend against her attack, Harry hadn't been able to retaliate. All he could do was continue to block her attacks and hope that her strength would wane and put an end to the strong vibrations that ran through his arm with each blow.

After several long moments of just blocking her attacks, Harry finally noticed the force behind each of Gwynn's attacks start to slacken. Of course, this didn't mean that her accuracy followed suit. While her swings might no longer cut him through, they would still cause severe and fatal damage. If he was not mistaken, Harry was almost positive that her attacks were getting closer and closer to hitting their target. One clean swipe from her outstretched sword and he'd be in serious trouble. The last thing he wanted to do was start his time in the Elven Realm with an emergency visit to the Healer.

Even with the majority of his focus on deflecting Gwynn's attacks, a part of Harry's mind still had the room to run strategically through the offensive moves Ilaria had skilfully trained them to execute. What he needed, however, was an opening. He doubted he would be given one easily. Returning from the possible list of attacks, Harry's eyes narrowed in on Gwynn's movements. They were almost perfectly executed, her focus intent on their execution. Luckily for Harry, there was but one tiny flaw. When performing an outward thrust of one's sword, Ilaria had made it extremely clear that the amount of space between the extended arm and one's body was minimal. Even on the offensive a warrior needed to protect his person. Gwynn's mistake was a growing gap between her body and her outstretched arm. It was a beginner's mistake that put Harry immediately on edge, but he was running out of time and options.

Harry braced himself for Gwynn's next attack. After blocking the quick movement, Harry followed with a quick tiao cut to clear the center space between them. Ducking her return swipe, Harry used the hilt of his sword to jar her outstretched elbow, resulting in a jerked movement of her arm and a loosening of her hold. Before she had a chance to react, Harry stood, twisting his sword sharply to connect firmly with Gwynn's and successfully dislodging it from her grasp. With the sound of the heavy weapon hitting the floor, Harry felt a bit of pride swelling in his chest. What he didn't count on, however, was Gwynn's quick recovery.

Without a sword, Gwynn was at a serious disadvantage. It was a disadvantage that Ilaria continually warned against. It was a disadvantage that left Gwynn with but one option: handicapping the opposition. Before Harry could understand what was happening, Gwynn shifted into what could almost be considered a crouch, her muscles tensing before she stepped into a forward movement, the heel of her palms connecting forcefully with the center of Harry's chest, forcing the breath from within him and sending him backwards. When his back hit the floor it was with a now very familiar sounding thud that left him struggling to regain the use of his lungs.

"Well done," Ilaria was amused. The sound of her voice made that very clear. "Very well done, both of you."

Harry didn't know how his part was very well done, particularly since he'd ended up on his back once again. He didn't even have the excuse of it being Ilaria who had done it. Gwynn was a student just like him; an extremely good student, but a student none the less. Pushing himself up onto his elbows with a raspy breath, Harry shot her a glare. Her amusement wasn't helping the situation, nor was the murmuring coming from the remainder of the class: a mix of awe, fear, and anger.

He'd just opened his mouth, a scathing comment on the tip of his tongue, when an outstretched hand drew his attention. Glancing up, Harry found Gwynn standing over him, an open and friendly smile on her face as her hand remained there in a helpful offering. Harry was a bit surprised, if he was going to be honest. Gone was the fierce and focused warrior he'd just been facing. In her place stood a girl who looked just like any of his other Hogwarts friends: open, friendly, and just a bit mischievous.

After a moment, when Harry realized he was still staring, he accepted the offered hand, allowing Gwynn to help him to his feet. He did have to admit that he was still stinging a bit by the fact that he'd been put knocked on his arse by a girl. Sure, he wasn't used to the training and he was a good deal behind in comparison, but that knowledge didn't do much to sooth his ego. Why he was even bothered was a mystery to him. Hermione beat him in marks all the time and he'd never felt humiliated by that.

"Uh…thanks," he muttered, a hand automatically moving to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. A nervous habit he'd adopted.

"She's right, you know."

Harry frowned at that. "Sorry?"

"You did well," Gwynn responded, the same amused smile Ilaria had been sporting tugging at the corner of her lips. "You really shouldn't have lasted as long as you did."

Even before he'd fully registered the meaning behind her words, Harry could feel his jaw dropping open and the colour rising up his neck to paint his cheeks and ears a lovely shade of scarlet. He sputtered for a moment, his feathers ruffled by the comment.  _What was that suppose to mean, anyway?_

"Alright, ladies," Ilaria called, the amusement still lingering in her tone. "Back in line. I think we've had enough hand-to-hand for one day."

Gwynn shot him an amused smirk before releasing his hand, which Harry hadn't even realized she had been still holding. The scowl remained on his features as he watched her disappear into the rows of students. He still wasn't entirely sure if Gwynn was making fun of him or actually being genuine. He had the feeling, however, that she was one of those individuals who could smile, tell you that you were completely useless, and you'd still think it was the best compliment you'd ever received.

"Bows out and ready!"

Harry snapped out of his internal considerations, thanks to Ilaria's  _wonderfully_  loud demand. Sarcasm had always been the first reaction to return after a surprise like this. When realization finally dawned, Harry couldn't hold back the groan that escaped him. If there was one thing he hated more then hand-to-hand it was archery. Harry, much to his displeasure, couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if his life depended on it. The worst part was that it might actually depend on it someday in the future. That particular thought wasn't at all encouraging. If he kept thinking like that he'd have his entire funeral planned out by the end of the week. Not exactly the best way to spend your free time.

With a long-suffering look on his face, Harry summoned his bow and quiver of arrows. It was going to be a  _very_  long day, of that he was positive.

* * *

As can be expected, growing up in Malfoy Manor had been everything an individual would have imagined it to be, considering their wealth. Draco had been privileged to large comfortable beds, new broomsticks when he deemed them necessary, tailored clothes, and a million and one places for a child to explore to their hearts content. Unfortunately, Draco was no longer a child and the foundation on which he had built his life was starting to crumble beneath him, leaving the support beams he'd enforced wavering dangerously over his head. His seventeenth birthday had come signalling the end of his childhood. It had come with but one gift attached: a promised initiation into the folds of the Death Eater's circle, complete with a large and painful brand that spoke of nothing but servitude.

The problem with this, however, was that Draco Malfoy was no longer enamoured with the idea of following his dear Father's example. Draco had grown up idolizing the man, but with age had come a certain insight into his presumptions. As each day went by it was getting particularly difficult to recall the reasons why he'd idolized the man. For years, Draco had been lectured on what should and should not be condoned as proper Malfoy behaviour. Bowing down to another individual was certainly not condoned and Draco was just arrogant enough to believe it. Since the Dark Lord's return, Malfoy Manor had seen more then it's fair share of darkened doorways on the account of the inner circle and Draco had borne witness to the way in which Lucius Malfoy grovelled at the feet of Tom Riddle. Lucius wasn't the right hand man of the Dark Wizard, for there wasn't any respect shared between the two. One was master and one servant. Lucius was a lap dog, smearing the name of Malfoy with every breath he took. However, Lucius Malfoy was a lap dog that fully intended to place his only heir directly into the hands of Wizarding Britain's darkest individual. It was suppose to be an honour, but Draco only felt nauseated. The way Voldemort's eyes lingered whenever Draco could not escape his presence did nothing to quell his very real fears.

Draco had managed for over two months to keep himself out of the Death Eater ranks. His friends had their own marks to contemplate, many of them still looking forward to being initiated. He simply couldn't trust them enough to turn to them with his own concerns. He couldn't turn to his Mother, Lucius would never forgive any transgression from his wife and Draco couldn't risk her life. He may not appreciate his Father, but Draco did, in fact, love his Mother and he would never ask her to trade her well-being for his own. Turning to Dumbledore was laughable. There was absolutely no way the old man and his followers would accept the son of Lucius Malfoy into their folds with open arms and he wasn't going to beg in order to be granted sanctuary. Ultimately he was alone and he was running out of excuses. The Dark Lord was not a patient man.

Sooner rather then later, he was going to receive a summons he simply wouldn't be able to refuse. As it turned out, sooner was far earlier then he'd ever expected.

The sound of the doorknob turning echoed throughout the darkened room, the slight sound jolting him awake and causing his breath to catch in his throat as his fear held him firmly in place. There was no time to run and his overly stressed mind simply couldn't contemplate a single coherent plan.

"Draco?"

The sound of his Mother's familiar tone sent such a rush of relief through him, Draco very nearly choked on his response. "Mum?" As the relief lifted, Draco could feel a growing sense of unease clawing away at his chest. His mother hadn't come into his room during the night since he was a child. "What are you doing?"

"Quickly, get up. You don't have much time."

Draco watched, dumbfounded, as Narcissa Malfoy slipped into his room and warded the door against entry. He wasn't familiar with the spell, but he could see the door shake as the spell settled into the heavy wood. It would hold it's own against forced entry but it wouldn't last forever. With that done, she immediately began moving about the room, picking up a collection of his belongings and placing them inside the bag he hadn't realized she was carrying. Had he been paying attention to which items she'd picked up, he would have realized what she was intending.

"Draco, now!"

The hint of fear in her normally collected voice was more then enough to snap him out of his frozen state. "What's going on? What are you doing?" Draco asked, pushing himself out of the bed. He had a sinking feeling that he already knew, but he needed to hear it from her. He didn't understand. This wasn't the role she was supposed to play.

"The Dark Lord has grown impatient. They're coming. You have to leave immediately," with a quick flick of her wand, Draco was warmly dressed. Even in the middle of August, the evening air could often be quite chilly. Her eyes softened at the level of shock and fear in Draco's eyes. It should never of gotten that far, she knew, but she would do what she could to prevent the nights events from transpiring. Setting the bag at their feet, Narcissa placed a warm hand on Draco's cheek and soft kiss to his forehead. "You were not made for the life they want you to lead, Draco. It will kill you."

Never before had his Mother mentioned the prospect of him becoming a Death Eater. When his Father had discussed it with him, she had always been a silent figure in the background: never agreeing and never disputing. With her voicing his own fears, Draco could feel the emotion building in his chest, a lump forming in his throat and his eyes smarting as he realized that she meant to say good-bye.

"This portkey will take you London," she instructed, placing a silver locket in the palm of his hand and closing his fingers around it securely. "You must find Severus. Tell him I sent you. He'll be expecting it."

"But he's a Death Eater!"

"Trust me, Draco. More importantly, trust Severus."

Draco didn't have a chance to respond before a responding crash rattled the door on its hinges. Whether or not Draco had questions, they were out of time. His numb fingers could barely keep purchase on the smooth surface of the locket once Narcissa had removed her hands from his, a warm tickle of magic ghosting over his skin as he sensed the portkey within it. He vaguely recognized the locket as the one that always hung around his mother's neck, but the thought didn't hold for long before another replaced it.

"They'll kill you for this," he whispered, terrified not for himself but for her. If Lucius didn't, Voldemort surely would.

"Don't worry about me, Draco. I'm a Slytherin as well, don't forget that," she responded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Draco wasn't entirely sure, but he was almost positive he'd caught a flash of despair in her eyes before the strength she was currently displaying took control. It was strength that Draco, himself, didn't feel. His eyes strayed to the door once more as another assault hit the frame, the wood reacting to the strong magic being used against it. With his attention elsewhere, Narcissa quickly muttered the incantation to activate the portkey. He had to leave without her and she knew he wouldn't agree otherwise.

"I love you, Draco," she responded, as he felt the very familiar tug behind his navel. "Don't let them catch you."

The last glimpse Draco had of his home was filled with the image of a single tear trailing down his Mother's pale cheek and as much as that image caused his entirely world constrict, Draco couldn't help but take notice of his Father's silhouette in the broken doorway. Nor could he ignore the look of pure, unbridled fury etched into every line of his face. His mother would not survive her transgression, of that Draco was positive.

* * *

For the fifth time, Harry's sword hit the stones of the courtyard with a resounding clang as a small line of blood blossomed across the back of his hand where Gwynn had nicked him with her blade. It was an amateur mistake and he knew there would be a frustrated look of confusion on her face long before he had a chance to glance up at the obvious physical evidence. It was entirely out of character for him and she knew it.

"Harry," she started, a familiar huff of irritation slipping past her lips as she slid her sword easily into the sheath stretched across her back. It was an uncommon place to rest, but one that Harry had come to appreciate. "What in the world is wrong with you? Even on a bad day you can usually hold on to your sword a little better then that!"

Harry couldn't help the look of annoyance that flickered across his face at that comment. Since volunteering to partner with him in their training sessions, Harry and Gwynn's had spent the vast majority of their time together. Harry rather enjoyed having another individual in the realm he could just be himself with. He liked having someone he could relax with … even though Gwynn rarely relaxed and received a distinct pleasure in pointing out all of his weaknesses. He was secretly terrified of the day he would introduce Gwynn to Hermione. They were far too similar for their own good … or his, for that matter. He really didn't need to have Gwynn lecture him on his poor form while Hermione lectured him on the historical relevance of swordsmanship. The very thought made him shudder with fear.

"I don't know," he muttered, rubbing idly at a spot on his chest that lay just above his heart. "I can't seem to concentrate." Which wasn't entirely the truth, but it was as far as he was going to explain. Every time he attempted to focus his mind on the task at hand, Harry's mind started to fill with a sense of panic that he simply didn't understand.

"What's wrong with your chest?"

"Nothing," he responded, forcing himself to stop the movement of his hand. It soothed the ache within his chest, but the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to it. For all he knew, the strange ache was nothing more then a strained muscle for all the sword swinging. Gwynn would never let him live it down if that was the case. He didn't even want to think about the possibility of Lothair finding out. That was one sneering face he really didn't want to deal with.

Gwynn eyed him suspiciously for several long moments, before she finally nodded and let the topic slip by. "Well, if you're alright then let's start on our archery. The Mother knows you need it and we have plenty of good light left before dinner."

Harry groaned deeply at that suggestion, momentarily forgetting his discomfort. "We're not in the middle of training!" he grouched, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. He might sound like a brat, but he was  _really_  tired of waving around a series of ridiculous weapons. "Can't we do something other then training? No swords. No Bows. No discipline. No Orders. No training! This is suppose to be our leisure time and you've got us out here slashing away at each other with sharpened swords." He held up his hand to show her the small cut on the back of her hand, as though that alone should make up her decision. "Don't you ever just relax and have some fun?"

"This is fun."

For a moment Harry could only blink at his serious, auburn haired friend.  _Fun? This is fun? Swinging around a heavy sword and sweating beneath layers of uncomfortable training gear is fun?_  Harry could barely compute the thought. "You clearly need to get out more often," he finally responded, shaking his head sadly. Even Hermione took a break from her books once in a blue moon.

Gwynn shrugged off his incredulous look, moving to pick up Harry's sword from where it had fallen. "And you should be working on learning to defend yourself properly. However do you expect to survive Roland's attacks if you can barely even block my own?"

"How do you even know about his plans, anyway?" Harry asked, a deep frown on his face at the not so hidden reprimand. "I barely even know the full extent of what's going on and I'm the one he wants to strangle the life out of." Harry dutifully ignored the very obvious similarity to his situation with Voldemort. Apparently, being kept up to date was a little too much to ask for in either realm.

"It's not difficult to get sensitive information if you know how to listen, Harry." Gwynn responded, sending him a smirk through the strands of her hair that had been caught up in the slight breeze.

Harry briefly considered whether or not he would classify that as a dig at his less then satisfactory defensive skills. He didn't, however, get much of a chance to decide. When he finally opened his mouth to respond the only thing that slipped past his lips was a loud gasp of unexpected pain. A white hot stab of pain shot through Harry's entire body, bringing with it a flash of images Harry barely had a chance to process, leaving him with such a strong sense of panic coursing through him that it left him struggling to draw in his next breath.

He had barely processed the fact that Gwynn was worriedly calling his name, a hand placed on his shoulder. She sounded far away, muffled and distorted. The images were gone as quickly as they had come, but two aspects were clearly burned forever into his senses: the smell of oranges and blood.

Something was terribly wrong and Harry didn't fight the deep protective desire flooding through him. With barely a thought to consider what he was about to do, Harry turned and started running. His new found strength offered him a burst of speed that Harry, under normal circumstances, wouldn't even think was possible, which left Gwynn struggling frantically to keep up with him. Harry barely registered her footfalls echoing behind them as he ran toward the stables. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he was positive that his entire life depended on him reaching the northern border before nightfall.

What ever it was, it was more important then even he realized.

* * *

He'd failed. She'd risked everything to save him and he'd failed. It had seemed like only seconds before dark-robed figures had followed him into the heart of London, searching the allies like wolves on the sent of a fresh kill. He'd never made it to his destination. He had just crested the last corner when a searing pain had erupted across his shoulder blades and the image of the familiar London street had blurred and faded away into darkness. Even now, with his arms restricted in a pair of well-used manacles at the heart of the Malfoy dungeon, Draco could feel the throb of pain across his back and the warm trail of his own blood making it's way down his skin. His senses were dulled slightly, a small miracle but certainly not one large enough to remove the pain completely.

"I'm rather disappointed in you, Draco," Lucius responded, idly playing with the tip of the dagger he held in his hands, several masked individuals lined behind him. "All this time I've been allowing your transgressions. A filthy Mudblood outscores you. Potter out flies you. A bloody Weasley outsmarts you. All of this, I've not punished you severely for simply because you would ultimately be taking our Lord's mark and serve him as only a Malfoy could."

"He was never  _my_ Lord," Draco responded, spitting a bit of blood that had strayed from the recent cut above his eyebrow. A well-placed elbow had certainly done its job in splitting open the sensitive skin. It felt particularly deep and a sharp burst of pain would move through the spot when he tensed his jaw. "He was  _yours."_

The sound of Draco's jaw cracking beneath the pressure of Lucius' fist was the only reprimand he received for outright refusing the Dark Lord as his master. Even the numbing of his senses wasn't enough to block the abrupt pain from clouding his vision as he struggled to breath through it.

"Unfortunately," Lucius started again, completely unconcerned with the way his son's jaw was hanging loosely. "I've not been given the order to kill you. The Dark Lord would like to claim that honour for himself and I cannot begrudge him that. He was rather looking forward to having you serve him and is quite displeased with your attitude. You will be made an example of, Draco. No one refuses the Dark Lord."

Lucius' words were starting to blend together, his vision going in and out. Draco hoped desperately that he'd be allowed to fall into unconsciousness, but he's seen his father torture an individual before. There was absolutely no chance he was going to allow it and a broken jaw was going to be the least of Draco's worries. When he didn't respond, Lucius reached forward and firmly gripped his son's jaw and abruptly turned Draco's head to face him. The pain caused by the pressure was excruciating, tearing from him an agonized cry that only seemed to please Lucius all the more.

"I don't plan to kill you, Draco," Lucius informed him, a maniacal gleam in his familiar grey eyes, "but you would be surprised as to what you can live through."

Looking into his Father's eyes as the older man smirked, raising the silver dagger now firmly in his grip, Draco fully realized how foolish he had been to believe in what the man had preached. There was no honour in being a Malfoy. The name no longer carried with it any respect, Lucius had seen to that. Narcissa was no longer there to save him and the Malfoy line would end as it currently stood: bloodied and broken. When the dagger met his shoulder, Draco vaguely heard himself scream as the sharpened blade separated skin and muscle with precision and ease. He could feel himself slipping beneath the onslaught of physical and emotional pain, leaving him to do the only thing left available to him: silently plead for the reprieve he wasn't going to get.

"Snape, bring him back!"

The name brought Draco's world firmly back into focus. The dagger had been removed without him realizing and the entire front of his shirt was soaked with blood. Clearly Lucius has not been as careful as he'd intended. Draco was loosing blood far too quickly for it to be a clean cut, a small mercy in hindsight. If he bled to death first, perhaps Lucius, himself, would take his own place as the Dark Lord's entertainment for the evening. Movement to his left alerted Draco to Snape's presence. His hood was drawn but there was no mask covering the Potion Master's features.

Desperately searching Severus' face, Draco felt the last bit of his hope slipping away from him. There was nothing in the man's expression that suggested he was anything more then a participant. Snape raised a hand to grip Draco's neck, surprisingly mindful of his injured jaw. With Draco's head tilted back, two vials appeared in his free hand. Draco knew the man's brilliance when it came to the subject of potions. He could only imagine what form of torture he'd be subjected to with the ingestion of those potions and his weak struggles did nothing to loosen Severus' steady grip.

_Trust Severus._

The sound of his Mother's voice resonating through his mind only made Draco's stomach churn violently with guilt. She'd instructed him to trust the man in front of him, but even with no other fragment of hope left, Draco found it extremely difficult to follow through on that. What if his Mother was wrong? What if Snape couldn't be trusted either.

_What do you have to lose?_

Draco hesitated for another moment before giving up his struggles entirely, slumping forward against the pull of his confinement. There really was no point in fighting it any longer. Either Snape could be trusted as his mother had suggested or he wasn't. If Severus weren't to be trusted then he'd be in no worse position then what he was already facing. The fact that the man wasn't causing him any further pain was something to consider and a small flicker of hope began to grow in his chest.

The first potion was familiar. The heavy texture and oily taste were clearly characteristics of a blood-replenishing potion. If Lucius wanted to keep him alive, then Draco needed to have the blood he'd already lost replaced. It did nothing for the pain, nor did it heal him, but it served its purpose in sustaining Draco's current existence. The second potion, however, was strangely unfamiliar. The slight numbing sensation that spread through his fingers explained why the pain he'd been feeling was dulled. Whatever the potion was it was laced with a mild pain relief. It took the harsh edge off the pain without signalling Lucius as to its effects. What baffled Draco the most, however, was the slight hint of carnation and comfrey; the former symbolizing protection, strength and healing, while the latter symbolized safety during travel. No matter how hard his feverish mind worked, he simply couldn't formulate a potion that acquired both of those ingredients. Separate potions, yes, but not one that combined the two.

When Severus stepped back Draco noticed that only one vial was left in his hand and, by the few drops remaining in the bottom, he guessed it had contained the blood-replenishing potion. Whatever the second potion was, Draco was sure that Severus had already destroyed the vial and any evidence of it having existed. It hadn't affected any of his physical wounds, dulled the pain, or even caused more, which left him to assume that it hadn't been one approved by his Father. As Severus stepped back into line with the other three guarding the entrance, Draco slumped slightly. Whatever the potion was it hadn't done a thing to help him. He was bleeding just as profusely as he'd been before and his wrists were no closer to being released from the tight grip of the manacles, the skin beneath the metal torn and bleeding.

The dagger was back in Lucius' hands when the other man returned to his spot in front of Draco. "You see," he smirked, trailing the edge of the blade across Draco's cheek, easily splitting the skin and drawing a low hiss from between Draco's lips. "We have plenty of time to discover your limitations, Draco."

As the blood dripped down his pale cheek in a startling contrast of red and white, the pain shifted. It wasn't centred at the wound on his cheek and shoulder, but rather just below his heart. His instinctive reaction was to curl in on himself, but his restraints prevented him from doing so, leaving him feeling even more exposed then he already was. It had started out as a light throb, but as the seconds ticked by the pain only intensified. There was nothing he could do to alleviate the pain, which felt like the weight of the entire world was pressing down forcefully on his heart, and Draco nearly crumbled under the assault.

A strangled moan of pain was what alerted Lucius and the others to the new development. Lucius had not continued his line of torture and, therefore, could not claim to be responsible. Backing away slightly, the older Malfoy watched, as the air seemed to shimmer strangely around his son before Draco's entire body disappeared before his eyes, taking with it the manacles that had confined him and a portion of the dungeon wall where they had been securely connected.

The very last thing Draco remembered was his Father's scream of fury and the smell of fresh grass as his abused body hit solid ground just before his tortured body finally allowed him to slip into the welcomed darkness of his mind.


	8. Blood, Bonds & Politics

Had Harry been paying attention to anything beside the growing pain in his chest, he might have been impressed with how quickly he was moving. He'd grown accustomed to Elves automatically moving out of his path, but as he rushed toward the stables those he passed barely had the chance to recognize who was passing them. Harry could still hear Gwynn's shouts behind him, but there wasn't a part of him that wanted to pay much attention to what exactly it was that she was saying. He could take a guess, but he knew well enough that it would be anything but flattering. It was rash, he knew, to go running off toward an unknown danger, but every fiber of his being told him to hurry. Soren and Ilaria would certainly not approve.

Lothair would be absolutely furious.

Lothair would be absolutely BEYOND furious.

The thought of the blond Elf's anger caused a moment of indecision where Harry's speed slackened, but the sight of the familiar green pastures of the Manor's stable brushed aside any lingering thoughts of Lothair. If the High Lords wanted to know where he was they could follow after him.

With Gwynn still trailing behind him, Harry burst through the main doors, sliding slightly as he attempted to come to a stop faster then he was capable of. He was surprised to find one of the stable hands moving toward him, two horses already in hand: two very familiar and large horses. Erebus and Nyx. He briefly pondered if it was a coincidence that these two were the one he'd find first or if whatever was guiding his senses had led him to this particular junction of time.

"Harry, you just can't-" Harry barely spared Gwynn a glance once she'd caught up, her breathing slightly erratic and her hair slipping from where she'd tied it back that morning. He had far more important things to worry about and he was sure her reprimands would be repeated later. Several different individuals would probably be repeating them, in fact.

"We'll take these two," he snapped, taking the leads from the hand of the very startled stable hand, the snapped words sounding much more like a demand then Gwynn, or anyone else for that matter, was used to. He hadn't spent much time outside of the Manor and when he did, Harry was usually in the company of one of the three High Lords.

"B-but, My Lord, this is Lady Ilaria's horse," the poor Elf responded, shifting a very nervous glance between Harry and Gwynn. "Nyx is not to be ridden by any other individual."

"I'm aware of who she belongs to," Harry responded, far more worried about the delay then he was about what Ilaria would do to him for taking her. Surely whatever punishment she was going to dish out wouldn't last forever … he hoped. "You may inform her that I've taken Nyx at your earliest convenience."

"But, your Highness-"

"You're dismissed!"

Gwynn's eyebrows had risen to meet her hairline for the duration of the entire exchange. She'd often wondered how Harry would manage to rule their Kingdom. However, those fears were beginning to fade the longer she watched him. She'd never seen anything but a friendly smile or a slight look of annoyance and frustration on his face. His features now contained a fierce determination and around his eyes she could see the worry that had taken such a strong hold of him. When he'd spoken his voice was low, authoritative, and held absolutely no room for argument. There was the presence of a ruler within him, but Gwynn wondered if Harry would be willing to embrace this new found side of him.

"Get on!"

The demand snapped Gwynn out of her silent musings, causing her to take a step back when he held out the reigns of Ilaria's mount. "No, absolutely not. Ilaria will have my head on a platter before the sun rises. I will not be held responsible for stealing her horse from the Royal Stables."

"Fine," he responded, dropping the reigns and swinging himself onto Erebus' back, completely unconcerned with the fact that he'd never before ridden bareback. As though Erebus sensed his impatience the creature shifted powerfully beneath him, his heavy hooves pounding the earth. "Then stay here."

Unlike her normal collected self, Gwynn fidgeted anxiously in place as she watched Harry turn his mount toward the exit with a sense of experience she knew he didn't have. She had two options. She could either take Ilaria's horse to follow Harry or she could not take Ilaria's horse and let Harry face whatever he was rushing toward on his own. With a frustrated huff, Gwynn pulled herself up and onto Nyx's back, urging her to follow after Harry and Erebus. If nothing else, Nyx would be able to successful keep up with the powerful strides of her brother.

 _I swear,_ she thought angrily, her eyes locked on Harry,  _if Ilaria doesn't kill him, I will._

* * *

The sound of fabric rustling and the uneven sound of a single set of footsteps echoed through the dark and otherwise silent hallways of Hogwarts castle. With the students home for the summer months there was no fear of others noticing his presence. He and the house elves would be the only individual roaming the halls. Of that, he was quite positive. Even the ridiculous caretaker would be tucked away in one of the many rooms within the castle.

The castle. It was both a gift and a curse. A gift because of the sanctuary it had offered him and a curse for the continued demands placed upon him for that sanctuary, demands that were starting to grow far too heavy for him to bear silently. Redemption had certainly come at a cost and he wasn't sure if he'd ever finish paying for it.

Despite the quiet of the halls, there would be one light that would still be burning. That was his current destination and, like a moth to the flame, he continued on his way despite the continued hazards he knew he would be facing. "Lemon Drop," the smooth voice echoed strangely down the corridor before being swallowed by the sound of stone grinding against stone as the statue guarding the Headmaster's Office shifted, presenting to him the stairwell that would lead him upward. It wasn't a surprise that the door to the office was open, nor was it was surprise to find the Headmaster sitting behind his desk, calmly waiting for him. A benefit of being the Headmaster meant the continued knowledge of what was happening within the school. The moment he had crossed the wards, Dumbledore had known.

"Severus."

A brief nod the only acknowledgement Albus received as Severus limped awkwardly in through the door, closing it firmly behind him. Corridors empty or not, he'd learned to take precaution.

"I assume it went well."

Severus barely contained the sneer from forming on his features as a wave of bitter annoyance slammed through him. "I'm alive, if that's what you mean," he snapped, easing his sore body into one of the chairs in front of the old man's desk. He could not, however, help the narrowed eyes as he met Albus' gaze. He hated that damn twinkle above all else. "The boy's gone."

"And the potion?"

"It transported him from the Manor, despite the wards against it. The potion did not, however, send him to the appropriate location. I've checked several possible destinations but I can't find a trace of the boy anywhere. Even scans on his magic aren't bringing anything up. He's simply vanished." Snape responded, feeling the tension in his body threatening to overcome him. The fact that he couldn't track down his charge was something Severus felt to his very core.

"Casualties?"

"A few of the lower circle."

"Narcissa?"

Snape's breath caught in his throat at the name, a sharp stab of pain jolting through his chest. Hardening his eyes and mind against Albus' subtly attempts at Legitimacy, Snape forced himself to respond with as little emotion as he could. "Unknown."

"The boy's condition?"

At this, for the first time in years, Severus felt a tendril of fear wrap around him, "Without assistance, Draco won't last the night."

* * *

It was his sense of smell that returned first, filling his nasal passages with the nauseating stench of blood and causing his stomach to clench and roll violently in an attempt to expel what Draco knew wasn't there. The sharp movements caused by his body's dry heaves served only to remind him of his injuries as pain flared through his shoulder, a low groan escaping through his abused vocal cords. Through the haze of pain, he did manage to do a quick inventory of his injuries and was relieved to discover nothing he hadn't already been aware of. His location, however, took much more time to determine. The last thing he could remember was Professor Snape forcing potions into him. There had been a certain level of pain moving through his body, but he couldn't be sure that he could associate the pain with the potions. He'd been in pain prior to ingesting them.

After spending hours locked up within the confines of the Malfoy dungeons, the fresh air washed over him with an almost cleansing sensation. After nothing but unyielding concrete and biting metal, the cool grass beneath his skin felt just like the soft silk his mother had always preferred.

_His mother._

Draco felt a deep ache erupt in his chest at the thought of Narcissa. When he'd woken in captivity, Draco had demanded answers regarding his Mother's location but had been rewarded with nothing but a sneer and the strong backhand of Lucius Malfoy. His father's response had not left him with much hope. If Lucius treated his only heir with such distaste, Draco could only imagine how he had treated the woman he'd simply married to produce an heir. Draco had a very distinct impression that he would never see her again. It was an impression that left him feeling horribly alone. He'd though he'd known what that felt like, but up until now he'd only ever guessed at it. Now he truly was alone.

_Trust Severus._

Draco faltered at that thought. Despite his relative freedom, he wasn't any closer to discovering whether or not he could afford to trust Severus Snape. He assumed that his sudden relocation might have something to do with the unfamiliar potion he'd ingested, but even with his level of knowledge on the subject, Draco simply couldn't recall a potion meant to transport an individual out of a heavily warded room, let alone a warded room and unplottable Manor. It certainly didn't help Draco disposition toward his head of House to know that the man had stood by and watched his Father torture him. Given his debatable allegiances, Draco was aware that doing so might have caused more problems for Severus then what he had done, but that information did little to sooth his own wounds.

Draco's own allegiances were currently in a scrambled mess. After his previous failed attempt at escape, Draco knew he wouldn't be able to make it much further on his own. He was tired, weak, and had lost a large amount of blood. He was no longer being fed blood restoratives and without them, the wound to his shoulder was much more serious. He needed to find some help. Muggle or Magically, he really didn't care at this point. He wouldn't have a chance to care if he succumbed to his wounds.

Biting his lip harshly against the pain moving required, Draco rolled from his side onto his stomach and pushed himself up on a severely shaking arm. His injured shoulder didn't allow for much pressure to be applied and, therefore, left him struggling with the use of only one arm. He had to pause to regain control of himself once he was on his knees. The new height allowed him a much better vantage point. The sight that surrounded him, however, did nothing to ease the worry he felt. Had he had the time or the mind to notice, Draco would have found the foliage surrounding him breathtaking. The very trees seemed to stand with pride, their roots stretching out before them before burrowing into the earth in search of pockets of water. The plants at their bases seemed to, rather then fight for the same water, wrap themselves around the roots of the tree quite harmoniously. It was well into the night, but Draco found he didn't have much of a problem seeing his surroundings. The light of the full moon flickered beautifully through the canopy of leaves to illuminate the forest floor. It reminded him strangely enough of the wooded area surrounding the Manor, but Draco knew that he wasn't anywhere near his childhood home. The very atmosphere felt lighter and he didn't recognize any of his surroundings. While the area was beautiful, Draco knew instantly that finding help might be a far harder thing then what he had the energy for.

Forcing himself to his feet using his good arm, Draco's head swam with the effort. Taking several deep breaths to regain a good sense of his self-control, Draco frowned. He could tell which way was North by which side of the tree moss was growing on, but that was no good when he didn't know if it was north he was suppose to be going. Bracing himself against a tree Draco closed his eyes, blocking out the pain in his shoulder so he could think clearly. He didn't have his wand, was barely dressed, and had no idea where he was. He needed to come up with some sort of plan or he might as well have stayed in the Dungeons.

Draco growled at that. Lucius Malfoy. Never before had Draco felt such an unbridled anger at the man. He'd spent the majority of his life looking up to Lucius and doing his best to be everything the man had wanted in a son. In the end, he had gotten nothing but hatred and pain for his efforts. The way he acted, the relationships he developed, the way he carried himself, all of it had been an attempt to please his father and now those aspects were what confined him within that position. He'd alienated anyone who might be willing to help him out of the mess he'd found himself in.

 _Not that it would do much good anyway_ , he thought with a sneer. He had no bloody way of contacting anyone so it really didn't matter if he was alone. If he wanted to start doing things for himself and not his father, he was going to have to start with finding his way out of his current mess. If he managed to do that, perhaps then he could make bigger plans for himself. If those plans happened to focus around avenging his mother, then so be it

The shuffling sound of his feet echoed through the strangely quiet forest as Draco forced himself away from the support of the tree. He hadn't noticed it before, but, now that he was focused more on keeping his body moving and not his internal monologue, Draco was acutely aware of the fact that he couldn't hear any wildlife. There were no birds, no insects, nothing. A slight chill ran down his spine at that, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. After taking a few more steps he paused and cast a nervous glance around. An entire forest set in silence didn't bode well. It wasn't exactly a sign that everything was as it should be.

When nothing came from his quick scan of his surroundings, Draco continued on, doing his best to calm the growing panic in his chest and quicken his movements. As he continued to move, a new sound began to mix with his heavy footfalls. Stopping again, Draco tried to make as little noise as he could. His heart, however, was still beating loudly and he struggled to hear over the sound of his heart echoing in his ears. As he struggled, Draco slowly became aware of a new sound growing in the circle of his awareness.

_Water._

Draco's head snapped up at that, feeling some of the tension within him drain at the recognition. He'd never thought the sound of flowing water would sound quite so beautiful. It didn't matter if it was a stream or a river. Even in the Wizarding world habitations were almost always built within a short distance of fresh water. Hogwarts had its lake, after all. If there was water near by then, as long as he kept moving, he was bound to find someone. The longer he spent alone within the forest the more his unease grew. He wasn't supposed to be there. He didn't know why, however, but the feeling was too strong to disregard.

Doing his best to ignore the continued silence of his surroundings, Draco pressed forward, his already weak body protesting painfully against the continued movement. As he steadily, if not slowly, moved forward, the sound of the water's movement grew louder. He still couldn't make out anything in the distance and that made him just a bit nervous. The water wasn't flowing. It was rushing. If he needed to cross, he might be in even more trouble.

Pushing that thought from his mind, he took another step forward. Despite the cool night air, his skin was clammy and extremely warm. The blood trickling slowly down his chest felt like it was scorching its way over his skin. His strength was waning, making each step more difficult then the last. His entire body screamed at him to just lay down, but Draco struggled against the temptation. If he stopped now, he wasn't entirely sure he'd have the strength to get back up. He didn't want to die alone in some unknown forest, of that he was absolutely sure. He wanted his chance to face his Father again. He wanted to tell him exactly what he thought. He wanted to actually stand up to the man as an individual, not his puppet.

"Damn it," he groaned, his good arm reaching out toward the nearest tree to brace him self. His panting breath echoed loudly in his ears as he closed his eyes, attempting to gather up the strength he knew he didn't have. Perhaps if he rested, just for a moment-

Draco's mind froze as new sounds began to register: heavy breathing, the loud crunching of something heavy snapping branches as it moved, and a low growl. With stiff movements, Draco slowly turned his head in the direction of the sound, his eyes landing on something he'd only ever seen in books and nightmares. Teeth bared threateningly, eyes trained expertly on him, and a tangled mess of dark fur covering powerful muscles. The werewolf was weaving through the tree trucks on a path that led directly to him. There was no delusion that could convince Draco that the creature's eyes weren't trained on him. Draco watched the careful and deliberate movements of the creature; a growing sense of panic building in his chest as he realized the beast was stalking him. With the smell of Draco's blood permeating the air, the wolf was hunting.

Everything inside of him told him to run, but his body was rooted to the spot. If he ran then the chase would be on. He couldn't outrun a bloody werewolf when he was completely healthy let alone when he could barely shuffle one foot in front of the other. He certainly couldn't climb any thing; his shoulder wouldn't hold his weight. His frantic reasoning, however, did not hold up against the feral snarl that ripped past the creature's lips. Draco's eyes widened at the terrifying sound. Without a second thought, he turned and forced his bruised and bloody body to run. The pain was excruciating, but the fear taking over him was worse. The pain didn't matter. He just had to keep running.

From behind him, Draco could practically hear the wolf's claws digging into the earth as it pushed itself forward into a run. It had no intention of allowing its prey to escape. Unfortunately for Draco, there was very little he could do to change its mind. His only saving grace was the closely knitted trees. Had the creature been able to run full out, Draco would have already felt the sharp sting of teeth ripping through his skin. Of course, by keeping to the most obstructed path through the forest, Draco was also finding it harder and harder to keep his own speed.

_Get to the water. Get to the water._

He could barely get the air into his lungs as he forced himself to keep running, his lungs burning as they desperately tried to fill. The water was much louder now, the sound almost deafening. Nothing, however, was going to drown out the sound of the creature behind him. The pounding of paws against the earth, claw scrapping, and a sound far more terrifying then anything he'd heard yet: the howl of the wolf. If there were others in the area they would be on their way. Even if he managed to escape one, there was no way he was going to outrun more of them.

Even as the wolf closed in on him, Draco could see the movement in the trees ahead of him. He was almost to the river. He was so close. Just a little further. As Draco moved around a large tree blocking the river from view, his foot caught in the tangled mess of its roots. Given the momentum of his body and the firm ancient strength of the tree's root, Draco hit the forest floor with a sickening crush, his arm twisted painfully beneath him. His vision swam as he fought to get his breath back and keep the pathetically limited contents of his stomach from being forced up. The pain was blinding as it mixed with the sheer panic of having the werewolf closing in on him. With nothing but desperation driving him forward, Draco forced himself up, his arm cradled against his chest as he stumbled toward the water.

Despite all his efforts, Draco stumbled again, hitting the dirt. All his hope instantly drained out of him. He couldn't force himself to get back up. Curling in on himself, Draco waited for the pain he knew would be coming. The creature would only take seconds to reach him. When nothing happened, Draco tensed all the more. Turning his body, Draco found the creature standing a foot away from him with saliva dripping from its open mouth as its nose sniffed the air and its ears twitched. After a moment, it's attention returned to Draco's bleeding form, a deep growl reverberating through its chest.

Draco was pretty sure a whimper escaped his lips as he attempted to inch himself backwards away from the approaching threat. As the wolf crouched lower, it's muscles tensing as it prepared to spring, Draco froze as a deep sense of horror enveloped him. He wasn't going to escape this. Just as he was about to close his eyes, both his attention and the attention of his attacker were torn away by the sound of heavy footfalls. Beneath him, he could swear he felt the ground tremble. He wouldn't have believed it had the trees to the left of them had not started to tremble.

_Oh Merlin, what now._

As the wolf's attention remained distracted by the movement in the trees, Draco began inching again toward about the river. He tried to make as little nose as possible but even with his care, the wolf's eyes zoned back in on him. Draco gulped as he stared into the large, narrowed eyes of the creature in front of him. The only thing he saw in their depths was death and pain.

As three more creatures erupted from trees, the one standing in front of him quickly became the very least of his concerns. These three made his current attacker look like a lapdog. They were twice as large, the one in the middle towering over the others, their coats dirty and matted, their eyes pinning both Draco and the other Werewolf with a look that clearly stated they both now on the lunch menu. Draco couldn't even be grateful that his original attacker was now too occupied with the others to bother with him. If it didn't kill him, Draco was sure one of the others would.

Draco began inching away again as the wolves growled and barked at each other. Whatever they were communicating about was lost on him. Not only did he have no knowledge of how to read the inflation or deflation in the yips and barks, he was much more concerned with keeping himself alive. At least if he reached the water he could allow the river to carry him downstream, which would allow for his scent to be lost in the water and, hopefully, allow him to slip away.

Of course, with the day he'd had so far, it was, perhaps, a bit too naive to assume that he would be slipping away that easily. With his first movement, the entire situation seemed to explode. The three wolves shot forward, their large claws leaving marks in the earth at the force applied. The smaller of the two moved directly forward, hitting the wolf standing with Draco at a speed that the blond wouldn't have thought the large creatures were capable of. The largest of the three, much to Draco's horror, headed toward him. He barely had enough time to turn onto his stomach before the wolf was on him, warm breath that smelled of rotted meat ghosting over his exposed neck as a sharp set of claws dug into his back, tearing skin and muscle as they moved. Draco could help the scream that was torn from him. This pain was beyond anything he'd felt before, both physical and emotional. He could feel every inch the claws tore through.

"GWYNN, NOW!"

The voice was familiar, but Draco could barely register that much through the haze of pain. Even if he'd wanted to he could do nothing but scream out his agony. He could hear the other wolves growling and snarling as they clawed at each other, their teeth sinking snapping as they fought. Among the noise, however, the sound of a taunt bowstring snapping forward echoed through his mind, followed by the sound of impact and a howl of pained fury from above him. The force of impact knocked the wolf off balance. Unfortunately, the wolf's claws were still embedded in his back. The sharp movement served only to toss the blond as easily as a child tossed a broken toy. Draco barely felt it as he hit the earth for a third time, his consciousness slipping in and out. The momentum of his body as it hit the earth sent him rolling several times before he hit the river, immediately slipping beneath the surface. Water filled his nose and mouth, trickling down his throat as the current picked up his rapidly weakening body. The rough water sending his body rapidly down stream, hitting anything that got in his way, Draco's consciousness finally slipping into darkness, his lungs filling with the heavy weight of the water.

* * *

With his heart in his throat, Harry watched the graceful arch of Gwynn's arrow as it was released from her bow, never wavering under the pressure of the wind as it flew. As it hit it's target, the relieved sigh Harry was about to release caught in his throat as a familiar face was revealed before the movements of the creature threw the victim towards the river. How Draco Malfoy, of all people, ended up crossing into Elven territory, Harry didn't know. He did know, however, that the panic in his chest all but tripled as he watched the blonde slip beneath the water. He'd been through a lot in his short life and he'd seen horrible things, but never had he felt such blind panic as he did when he lost sight of his rival.

He and Gwynn had been following the river for quite sometime, having slipped through an opening in the trees seven or eight miles back. Harry hadn't known what he was racing toward, but the same instant that had told him to leave the Manor had urged him to head for the river. With his hearing, he'd been able to hear the commotion long before he'd seen it. When he'd arrived it hadn't been the werewolves that had shocked him. It had been the fact that an individual had slipped past the wards of the kingdom. He may have been new to the realm, but even he was aware that it should not have been possible. Of course, at the time, he hadn't known said individual was Draco Malfoy, a bitter school rival and someone Harry was know racing to save.

As his feet hit the ground, Harry had never been happier to feel the reassuring weight of his sword at his side. He was too late to prevent Draco falling into the river, but even with the fast current Draco couldn't have been carried out of reach. Pulling his sword from its sheath, Harry ran directly at the three wolves, having ignored the approaching Elves and who were still clawing and growling at each other. Just as two arrows shot over his head, impacting against the side of one Wolf, Harry's sword met the side of the creature closest to him. The remaining werewolf, while still growling and spitting, was covered in gashes that bleed freely. The creature wouldn't be much of a match for Gwynn and Harry didn't feel too bad about leaving it there for her. As his sword remained embedded in the side of the wolf he'd stabbed, Harry shot forward once again, running along the riverside until he could spot Draco's form in the water.

After several excruciating moments, Harry spotted his hand breaking the surface of the water. Using a bit of the strength he'd tapped into previously, Harry put on a burst of speed to reach a large overhanging branch a few meters or so in front of Draco. Reaching the branch just as Draco passed under it, Harry dove into the water after him, completely disregarding the fast current. For whatever reason, he couldn't let Malfoy die. It was imperative that the blond remained alive and Harry was doing his damned best to ensure that happened. He'd never been much of a swimmer prior to his time in the Elven realm, but Harry found himself moving through the water easily. It barely took any time for him to reach Draco's limp form, an arm wrapping around the other boy's waist as he did his best to keep them both afloat. Even with his new strength and skills, Harry could barely keep Draco's head above the water as he attempted to fight the current and get them to shore.

"Bloody hell," Harry coughed, spitting water to clear his throat. The body in his arms was still and the longer it remained so the less of a chance Harry had of keeping Draco alive. Glancing around desperately, Harry spotted several overhanging branches above the surface of the river. Angling himself in the right direction, Harry shot a hand out towards them. Several slapped against him before his fingers final scrambled against a large branch, allowing him to grab a hold. With one arm still wrapped firmly around Draco's waist. Harry struggled to use his free arm to pull the two of the closer to the shore, moving them inch by agonizing inch.

Finally, Harry managed to get them both out of the main current where the pull was the strongest. Once he was able to keep his feet locked on the bottom of the riverbed, Harry released the tree branch and returned his free hand to Draco, dragging him out of the water and up onto the grass. Even with his soaking hair hanging in his face, Harry knew that Draco looked bad. There was blood still leaking from several of his wounds, his clothing was torn, and his skin was a deathly blue colour. Most significantly, Harry couldn't deny the sinking realization that Draco wasn't breathing.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," he muttered, more then a little panic sinking into the tone of his voice. Turning Draco onto his back, Harry did the only thing he could think of. Clearing Draco's airways, he sealed his mouth around the other boy's and breathed air into him. After a brief moment of this, he pulled back and placed his hands on Draco's chest, applying pressure in the hopes he might be able to get his heart started again and the water out of his lungs. After several more rounds of this, Draco still hadn't moved and Harry was starting to lose what little bit of his calm that he had.

Harry had just placed his hands back on Draco's chest, when the light sound of a footfall directly behind him alerted him to another presence. Wishing desperately that he hadn't stupidly left his sword stuck in the side of that Werewolf, Harry's entire body tensed as he spun his body around, keeping it protectively in front of the prone form beside him. Had he been thinking of anything but protecting Draco, he might have noticed the slight elongating of his eyeteeth. Soren, on the other hand, did not fail to notice. Nor did the much older Elf fail to notice the way Harry's eye's had darkened with just a hint of red appearing around his normally green iris' as his skin paled drastically. It was something that surprised him greatly, but given the circumstances, he could not pursue further.

"I can help him," he responded. Soren lowered himself into a kneeling position in order to look calmly into Harry's eyes, rapidly changing eyes. It took several long moments before the red started to fade from them, the rest of his eyes lightening as it did. It was only then that Soren pressed on, knowing that if he attempted anything sooner, Harry would attack him with intent to kill. His instincts were taking over and the only thing Soren could do was wait. "Allow me through and I can help him."

After another long moment, Harry's eyes cleared of hostility and filled with a deep worry. "He's not breathing," Harry whispered, his eyes wide with worry and confusion. He didn't know why his chest felt like it was going to collapse at the thought of Draco dying. He didn't know why, just a moment ago, he felt threatened to have Soren anywhere near the blond. "Please …"

Soren did not wait for further permission; enough time had already slipped by. The window of opportunity was almost gone. Kneeling beside Draco's body, Soren let his eyes slipped closed, a single hand hovering over Draco's chest. For several long seconds he remained this way, causing Harry already nervous posture to tense. He was just about to comment on Soren's lack of movement when his eyes opened again, only rather then the dark, alert pupils he was used to seeing, Soren's eyes where clouded. The milky substance that had covered his eyes barely allowed for their true colour to be seen. Soren's hand stilled just above Draco's heart and for the briefest moment, Harry could have sworn the tips of his long finger's had started to glow.

Before he could look again, his attention was instantly diverted back to the blond when Draco's back arched as though an invisible force was pulling him upward. The movement forced Draco's head back, allowing the water to spill from his lips. It seemed like an eternity before the water had drained from Draco's lungs; an eternity that had Harry's chest constricting painfully. The moment the water had stopped flowing from Draco's mouth, the force pulling at his chest dissipated, allowing his back to return to the forest floor. The force seeming to kick-start Draco's heart and lungs, his body shaking as it attempted to gasp in some much needed oxygen.

"Malfoy!"

Had Soren not been so quick to move, the speed by which Harry arrived at Draco's side would have surely knocked him backwards. The moment Draco's chest heaved for it's first breath Harry was leaning over him, his worry receding only when Draco's eyes flickered open. "Malfoy? Can you hear me?"

Draco lungs burned, even after he'd drawn in enough air for them the function. His throat felt like sandpaper and it was difficult to swallow without a certain amount of pain. Despite his eyes being open, Draco couldn't focus on his surroundings, his vision slipping in and out once more. His heart was beating and he was once again breathing, but the wounds his body had sustained had not been healed, nor had the blood been replaced. As the last efforts to remain conscious slipped away, Draco focused on a pair of bright green eyes peering into his own, an unknown emotion radiating from their depths. Those eyes were the last things he saw before slipping into darkness once more.

"Draco!" Harry called, the worry returning. When Draco didn't respond, Harry whirled around to face Soren as a tinge of red appeared in his eyes once again. "You said you'd help him!" The tone was accusatory, but there was also a good portion of warning in it as well. Harry's hold on himself was teetering dangerously on a ledge.

"He is not fully healed," Soren responded, rising to his feet once more, his voice remaining calm and soothing. It had been the first time since their failed lesson that he'd had Harry's attention and this certainly wasn't the way he'd planned it. He was not impressed with Harry running out into the realm without proper planning, but given the circumstances, he could understand. Perhaps putting off his training of the realm hadn't been the best decision. Harry's was already starting to show signs of his dominant nature and the boy was completely unaware of it. It could very well be a dangerous mix. "He is breathing and I have stabilized him. It will give us enough time to get him to the Manor where he can receive proper medical attention so long as we are not detained."

Harry wasn't entirely pleased with his response, but the tension seemed to drain out of him anyway. Turning back around, he moved to pick up Draco's unconscious form. Prior to Harry's inheritance, Draco had always been much taller then the brunette, albeit of a slightly smaller build. Now, given the changes Harry had undergone, he didn't have any trouble at all lifting Draco. One arm slid beneath Draco's knees, the other positioned as best he could to avoid the bloodied wounds on the blond's back. It was those wounds that worried Harry the most. He hadn't seen the wolf bite Draco, but that didn't mean he hadn't. Whether or not he'd been bit, there were still going to be repercussions for the wounds.

Harry followed behind Soren, focusing on where he placed his feet and how he manoeuvred Draco's form through the dense trees. For all his precautions, however, Harry very nearly dropped him as they emerged from the trees to find the injured Werewolf he'd left for Gwynn sitting safely between two others, Ilaria and two of her guards stood with him. A deep growl worked its way up from his chest at what appeared to be a conversation between one of the Wolves and Ilaria.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry demanded, clutching Draco to him protectively as he moved forward. "Why is that  _thing_  still alive?"

At his words, the two wolves standing protectively on either side of the injured shifted forward to block Harry's view. It was clear that they would protect the third, if they had to. As far as Harry was concerned, they were wasting their time. The injured wolf they were protecting had been involved with what had happened to Draco and Harry's wasn't exactly feeling generous about it, either.

"Move aside!"

Gwynn, who stood with the horses, winced as the forceful sound left Harry's mouth. She wasn't entirely sure Harry knew of whom he was speaking to. Not many would use that particular tone of voice to the Alpha. More importantly, not many would use that tone with the Alpha and live to tell about it. What surprised her more, however, was the dark look that had passed over Harry's face just before the Alpha and his general stood aside. She didn't know who the blond in Harry's arms was, but she did know that he seemed to be pivotal to what was happening.

Harry hadn't even opened his mouth before the injured wolf had started to respond, it's head lowered in shame as it spoke. "I apologize, my Lord. I did not know this human belonged to you."

Had he not been so worried about Draco's condition, Harry might have actually been stunned into silence by the fact that he could actually understand what the wolf was saying. He hadn't heard any yips or barks, but actual words. As far as he was aware, Werewolves, while in their wolf forms, did not speak English … and he most certainly shouldn't have been able to pick up a hint of an Irish accent. "You had best hope, he survives these wounds. If he doesn't, neither will you."

Two low warning growls came from the two other wolves as they moved to step in front of their injured companion once again. A month ago, Harry would have been scared to death at the very sound, now it only had him anticipating a fight. "If I catch you hunting on Elven ground again, you will become the prey," Harry returned, his voice low and dangerous. "Do I make myself clear."

The larger of the Wolves let out a loud growl of anger, taking a step toward Harry before both Lothair and Ilaria's swords were restricting him from moving any closer. "You can not ban us without council, Dark Prince," he responded, his tone picking up a mocking tone when he addressed Harry's title. "The law decrees that we may not hunt Elves, but it has no other stipulations. We can and will hunt humans."

"Not this human!" Harry snapped, the sound almost as terrifying as the growl of the Wolves. "This human has my protection! While on my lands you will NOT hunt humans nor will you harm the Elves!"

The wolves muscles tenses as though he was going to spring forward, causing Harry to brace himself for the expected attack, but before anything could happen between the two of them, Soren interfered. "This is not the time or the place for politics," his voice, soothing and calm, washed over all of them. "We will return to the Manor to discuss the changes of the law. We are wasting time as we argue."

Harry was about to protest when Soren's eyes turned to him. "He is right, Harry. You may not make changes to Elven law without a council taking place," Soren informed him, his eyes moving from Harry's to the individual he held in his arms. "And the stabilization spells will not last forever. Your human needs medical attention."

Harry had a million and one things to say about having to hold a council to punish the ones responsible for Draco's injures, but he held his tone. Soren was right. Draco did need help and that had to come first. He would have his chance to punish the wolves; he simply had to be patient. A hard task, given his current emotional state, but one he was intent on completing.

"He comes with us," Harry ordered, his eyes narrowing in on the cowering wolf. "Until punishment is decided upon."

"Harry-"

"He comes with us!" Harry growled, his narrowed eyes moving to pin Soren with a look that clearly stated any arguments would not be tolerated. With a sigh, Soren took a step back and nodded.

"Then so are we."

Harry's attention returned to the large wolf. There was a hard look in his eyes that Harry had seen plenty of times before. It meant that, like it or not, he would be housing three wolves instead of one. "It's your funeral."

With a final glare at the three wolves, Harry turned and made his way to where Erebus was waiting for him, Draco still held protectively in his arms. Placing Draco up on Erebus' back first, Harry swung up afterwards. After making sure his hold on Draco wouldn't allow him to fall, Harry turned Erebus around and immediately headed back toward the manor. Soren had stated the stabilization spells wouldn't last forever and Harry wasn't taking his chances.

The three High Lords shared a worried look as Harry left with Erebus. The bond was starting sooner then it should have and Harry's mind would now have to balance the bond and the darkening of his personality. It was a balance that Harry would need to find immediately and none of the High Lords were entirely sure what would happen if he didn't. The Realm had waited five generations for a leader. It couldn't wait any longer. If Harry fell before an heir was produced, the royal bloodline would end with him, throwing their world into chaos.


	9. To Save a Life

There were times when Severus Snape deeply regretted the choices he'd made in his life. He regretted having lost his friendship with Lily Evans. He regretted not having been strong enough to refuse the Dark Lord. Lately, however, his regrets had started to shift. He didn't regret any of the good he'd done because of his choices, but he he was starting to regret falling under the control of Albus Dumbledore. There really was little difference between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Both expected him to perform on command. Voldemort, at least, didn't bother trying to hide his intentions behind soft words of encouragement and hope. With the Dark Lord what you saw was what you got. Albus Dumbledore had more faces than any one person could keep track of. It was enough to drive a sane man around the bend. Thankfully, Severus had never really fit the roll of a sane man.

He was positive that the old man was up planning something big, but no matter how much he thought about it, he simply couldn't put the pieces together. Albus had never been interested in the plight of Draco Malfoy, at least not until recently. It was this interest that had tipped Severus off. Normally, the Headmaster was focused solely on that Potter brat, but since the boy had escaped the hold Dumbledore had on him, Albus had redoubled his efforts to bring Draco within the protection of Hogwarts. The man seemed to have a rather intense interest in keeping one or the other under his control and Severus was missing the part of the equation that balanced it.

A snort of derision escaped Severus at those thought. Hogwarts wasn't safe. He'd made the mistake of believing otherwise and had ended up under the control of two separate individuals intent on doing anything necessary to get what they wanted. For the youngest Malfoy it was, unfortunately, him that they wanted. The silver lining to this new rain cloud was that Severus now had the ability to focus all of his energy on finding Draco. He refused to believe that his potion had failed. He hadn't failed to brew a potion since his second year. It was incomprehensible. His potion had worked exactly as he'd designed. It had fused with the boy's body, making him a temporary port key. What he'd miscalculated was what destination Draco's subconscious would choose as the safest. Wherever it was, Severus had been unable to locate it. He'd known the boy since childhood and still he couldn't track him. It was both a relief and a worry. If he couldn't find him, than both Voldemort and Dumbledore wouldn't be able to either. However, having been the one to administer the boy's blood replenishing potions, he knew exactly what Draco faced without them. The boy was loosing blood faster than his body could naturally replace it. His injuries did not bode well for his survival. And that did not bode well for Severus Snape's sanity.

At that, Severus' thoughts shifted to another. Narcissa Malfoy. He hadn't seen nor heard from her since her attempt to save her son. Fresh pain stabbed through him. It was another woman he'd been unable to protect. First Lily and now Narcissa. He'd known Lucius long enough to know he would not forgive her transgression. He'd already discretely searched the Malfoy Dungeons but had found no sign of her. If she was still alive, he wasn't keeping her there. He wanted to hope for her survival but he was starting to lose faith. The longer Lucius had her in his crazed grip, the less chance she had of seeing another day. All of his reasons for his double life were being stripped away from him and a part of him feared he was going to once again face the decision he'd made years ago. It was the light or darkness. He wasn't naive enough to believe in the shades of grey anymore.

* * *

"You were completely reckless! Do you not understand what you could have caused running off into a bloody Werewolf feast? You could have ruined everything, you useless little fool!" This wasn't the first time since they'd left the forest Harry had been called a fool. He was even starting to feel a little bit like one, but he highly doubted Lothair's anger would be soothed by the admittance. He doubted there was anything that could soothe his anger now. Harry didn't think he'd seen Lothair as worked up as he was right then. Had he not been so worried about Draco and whatever was going on in the other room, he might have found it a little bit intimidating. "Worst of all, you left Gwynn to deal with a Werewolf on her own so you could run off and save some half dead human."

Harry really wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but the way Lothair had said "human" sparked something inside of him that immediately reacted to the other Elves words. Lothair had spit out the word as though it was the most vile thing to have ever left his lips. A part of him that Harry hadn't even been aware of rose up angrily. It was a protectiveness that he'd never felt toward anyone and he couldn't even begin to fathom why he was suddenly feeling it toward Draco Malfoy, of all people. Whatever it was, the look in Lothair's eyes and the words that spilled from him had Harry classifying him immediately as a threat and there was an almost animalistic urge to destroy that threat. He could feel his teeth elongating and digging into his bottom lip. He might have actually taken a swing at the other elf had the growl that rumbled through his chest not snapped him out of it. He hadn't been expecting the sound and it was enough for him to grab a hold of his senses and hang on. A corner of his mind told him that it shouldn't be humanly possible to make that sort of noise, but he pushed the thought aside. His anger was still there, burning hotly beneath his skin, but he'd lost the desire to tear Lothair to pieces. It was still difficult to think that he wasn't exactly human any longer.

He took a step toward Lothair until they were standing nose to nose. "He is  _my_  human," he responded, his voice taking on a hard edge that left absolutely no room for argument. It was a tone that one might expect from the ruler of a Kingdom, but sounded strange coming from Harry's lips. "And you will do well to remember that." Harry was slightly horrified by the declaration.  _Draco was his human?_  Alright, so perhaps he was more than slightly horrified. Merlin, if he didn't know better he was starting to think he was losing his mind. Draco was his rival. They hated each other and that was all there was too it. He was defending him because of Lothair's rather obvious dislike of all things human and Harry, himself, had been human. That was why he was bothered by it. It really had nothing to do with Draco. He would have helped anyone had they been attacked by a werewolf. The fact that he'd felt such a strong desire to be by the blonde's side was something he was going to simply forget about. A brief moment of insanity. That was all.

This time it looked like Lothair was trying to restrain himself. Harry highly doubted anyone had spoken to the Elf like that in years, if ever. As it stood, Lothair was still one of three holding reign over the Kingdom and, as such, deserved respect, but Harry just couldn't find it in himself to offer him any. He realized he shouldn't have run off, but they'd barely gotten there in time. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he had gotten there in time. Rosalind and Soren had taken Draco into the other room and had not come out since. He had no idea if the blond was alive or dead. It was a horrible feeling not knowing. He felt like he was balanced precariously on the edge of a knife, just waiting for a strong wind to push him over.

"Enough."

Harry's head snapped up as his eyes immediately searched out the figure of Soren. The instant he spotted Soren's much smaller mate coming through the door behind him, Harry forgotten all about Lothair and his poor attitude. At the moment he was insignificant and would remain so. All Harry cared about was seeing Draco and making sure that the Slytherin continued to breath. Despite his desire to press the matter, he knew better than to go rushing forward. He stayed where he was, his body taunt as he waited for the okay. There were muscles tensing that Harry hadn't even known he possessed and all of them were hell bent on finding their way to the Manor's new ward. It seemed like ages before Rosalind's soft smile told him what he'd been waiting to hear. Draco was alive. It only took half a second for his body to move after that, the tension in his muscles turning to energy and pushing him forward until he disappeared through the doorway. He let the heavy door swing shut behind him and didn't bother a glance back..

Lothair remained where he'd been, his eyes meeting Soren's with a hard edge to his look. He didn't need to speak for Soren to know what he was about to say. "He's reckless and cares of nothing but himself." It enraged him that some mere human meant more to the idiot than the whole of the Kingdom. As Prince, Harry was suppose to protect the people above all else, but it was quite clear that was not going to be happening so long as this human was still breathing. He wasn't normally in the habit of killing humans, but if it was the life of one against the well-being of the Kingdom, he'd gladly be the one with blood on his hands.

Soren must have been able to read that thought in his eyes because his usually thoughtful eyes darkened immediately, offering Lothair a rare look of hostility. "Be very careful, Lothair. There is more going on here than even you know." He wasn't really worried about what Lothair might or might not do. With the Werewolves in the Manor and the development of Harry's bond there were far more important things to worry about and he knew Lothair would not dare do anything while the human boy was in the Manor and under the care of Rosalind. Harry, he was sure, wasn't going to be leaving the Manor again for a while and he was equally sure that he wouldn't permit Lothair anywhere near it's new ward. There was nothing the Elf could do at the moment.

With nothing else to say to Lothair, his eyes moved to take in the two other occupants of the room. "Gwynn, you did very well today. Thank you for going with him, despite the risks," Soren offered the young elf an acknowledging smile and bowed slightly, causing a flush to spread across Gwynn's pale skin as she scrambled to return the bow. The High Lords rarely bowed to anyone and the fact that Soren, himself, was currently bowing to her had her so far through a loop that she wasn't even sure if she'd bowed properly. Things like this didn't happen to her.

It had seemed like forever, but Soren eventually straightened and turned his attention to Ilaria. "I'd like you to accompany me, Ilaria. The Wolves must not be kept waiting. Hospitality is the only thing we currently have to smooth over the current situation, which is something we must do prior to the council with Harry. It is a complicated matter that neither party completely understands."

"What  _is_  going on, Soren?" she asked, her body language stating that she would follow even if he didn't answer her question. Her sense of duty wouldn't allow for anything else. It was her job to maintain peace within the realm and if that meant dealing with a bunch of surly Werewolves than that's what she was going to do. The Kingdom could not afford to divide it's troops between an attack from Roland and an attack from the Werewolf would be a disaster if that's what it came down to, not to mention the fact that Lothair had always had enough of an attitude to deal with. They'd never get anywhere if she allowed her temper and annoyance to rise to the level his always seemed to.

Soren looked thoughtful for a moment, before he chuckled softly. "Everything will become clear soon enough." He briefly wondered if he truly was the only one to put the pieces together. If they thought about it, he knew they'd see it, but when stress was high it was easy for the eyes and heart to be blinded. It wouldn't be long before that blindfold was pulled from their eyes.

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed when he entered the room was the smell. He'd been in St. Mungo's and even a few of the Muggle hospitals in London but had never really noticed the scent. Of course, he'd never been in those places with the increased senses he now possessed and he found himself very glad for that. They would have smelled a lot worse. The door he'd entered had clearly been an entrance into the Manor's hospital wing, something he hadn't even realized they had. The room itself looked like the physical manifestation of sterile. Everything seemed to be a shinning white with flashes of stainless steel intermixed. The smell, however, wasn't as pleasing to the senses as the sight. He could smell the sterile cleaner and varying antiseptics. He honestly didn't know how Rosalind handled it on such a continued basis. Perhaps after years of smelling it, he too wouldn't notice. If past experience was anything to go by, he was sure to be spending a lot of time in this room.

There was only one bed being occupied in the room and the splash of blond against the white pillow told him exactly who it was. Draco was laying on his stomach, the wounds on his back covered with bandages. Harry released a breath when he spotted the movement of the Draco's back, corresponding with each breath he took. His relief wasn't what he had hoped it would be. Some of the bandages had tinges of red colouring where the blood had seeped through. Draco wasn't out of the woods just yet and he didn't need Rosalind to tell him as much. His wounds had been pretty bad and it wasn't at all surprising that he was still unconscious. A part of him had hoped otherwise, but that had clearly just been wishful thinking. If Draco woke any time soon, it would be a bloody miracle.

Harry's eyes took in the complete sight of his rival. They'd spent years hating each other. They'd said and done all manner of awful things to each other and yet, there he stood, feeling absolutely horrible about the whole thing. He would have thought he'd feel a little pleased that Draco had gotten some of his own back, but he didn't. It was quite the opposite. Harry was sure that if he could switch places with him and take the brunt of Draco's wounds, he would. No questions asked. The thought made him frown. Perhaps he really did have a hero complex. Whatever complex he had, however, it did nothing to relieve the overwhelming feelings moving through him; feelings that only continued to confuse him.

The sound of the door clicking softly as it shut, had him glancing back over his shoulder. Rosalind offered him another small smile, this one tinged with what he assumed was worry and that made his blood run cold. So there was something wrong. Was he going to die after all? "What is it?" he asked, wondering if he really wanted to know her answer. He wasn't entirely sure if he was going to be able to handle whatever it was that she had to tell him.

"There is still plenty that needs to be done, but some of the wounds he has sustained I cannot heal," she responded, coming to stand beside him, her eyes fixed on her patient. Harry could tell that she didn't like admitting that. She was very passionate about her work and he could tell that she didn't like not being able to help more and that helped ease his mind just a little. How could Draco die when he had someone so dedicated caring for him? "The wounds on his back are what worry me the most. It is understandable that they would take longer to heal than the others, given that they were created by the claws of a Werewolf, but still there should have been some progress. They are, however, just as fresh as they were when he arrived. The wounds are not closing and they're not responding to any of the magic or poultices that I've used so far."

"What could be causing it?" Harry asked, confused. The only werewolf he knew was Remus and he'd never mentioned anything about inflicted wounds not healing. In fact, he didn't even remember reading anything about it when Professor Snape had assigned that paper on Werewolves either. What was even harder to understand was the fact that nothing she did seemed to be working. Surely there was some sort of spell to remove the bloke. What was stronger than the Elves magic?

"To be honest, I'm not sure," she admitted, a slight frown on her features. "There could be several reasons. I did find traces of potions in his system, Wizarding variations for the most part, but there were a few that I didn't recognize. One of them may be preventing him from healing, but from what I can tell, the majority of the ones used were to keep the young man alive. Another possibility," she continued, turning her eyes away from Draco's prone form, "is that his body simply doesn't have the strength to do what's needed. He has been through a lot and it wasn't just the Werewolves that harmed him. There were lesions on each of his wrists that signify that he'd been restrained. There was also a large wound where he had almost all of the muscle detached from his shoulder joint. The cut was far too clean to be caused by a set of claws. I cannot say for sure, but I'm almost positive it was an intentional wound. The angle would have been one in a million if it had been an accident."

Harry felt slightly sick as she continued to talk. He could feel that strange protectiveness churning beneath the surface of his skin, waiting for him to embrace it. What could possibly have happened to him before the wolves? More importantly, what had happened to him that had caused him to appear where he had? And why had he been immediately able to sense Draco's location? "What happens if the wounds don't heal?" he asked, his voice rough in an attempt to keep himself calm and detached. It was easier to deal with the entire situation if he didn't care … or at least cared less; something that was far easier said than done. There were too many questions and worries moving through him to do much else. "Is he a werewolf?"

Rosalind remained silent for a long moment, considering her answer. "I honestly can't say for sure. If any of the wounds were caused by the creature's teeth there is no way to prevent it. From what I can tell, the wounds on his back were all made by claws, however, I cannot be certain that no saliva entered into his blood stream. He's much too weak to run the necessary tests to find out." She paused again turning her eyes back to Harry and offering him that same small, hopeful smile. Even with the reassurance, Harry couldn't help but notice the hint of sadness around the edges of her eyes. He'd never been the most aware person out there, tending to be quite oblivious to things sitting directly in front of him, but he couldn't mistake that look. He'd seen it often enough to take it for what it was.

"You don't think the wounds will heal, do you?" he asked, looking away from her and back to the prone form on the bed. Could that be the truth? Was Draco going to die after all, despite their efforts? Was he going to have to stand there and let it happen?

"I've tried everything that I know, but nothing is working," she admitted, her regret evident in her voice and Harry knew instantly that she was telling the truth. This woman wouldn't allow anything to stop her, not if she had the choice and strangely enough that made him feel a little better. "His body's not responding to my magic and it's not strong enough to heal on it's own." It was strange, definitely. She'd never had a patient who failed to respond to her magic. Of course, she'd never really worked on a Wizard before, nor anyone with this particular degree of wounds. Normally she didn't contend with both Wizarding magic and creature influence.

"There is one way."

It was Soren. Neither Rosalind or Harry had heard the other Elf enter the room. Ilaria stood silently behind him as he surveyed the prone form of Draco on the bed. His eyes moved from the hospital bed to Harry and it might have been Harry's imagination, but he could have sworn that Rosalind stiffened beside him as he met Soren's gaze. "What?"

"There is another way to save him, Harry, but it is not easy and will come with lasting repercussions."

"Soren, this is not the way," Rosalind responded, her tone angry. Harry hadn't even really had the chance to process that there might yet be a way to save the blond before Rosalind was moving behind himself and Soren, acting almost as a physical barrier between the Draco and the remaining occupants of the room. "You know better than to mess with things such as this. It must be entered into willingly by both parties. If not it will upset the balance and there will be nothing left to save. The choice is not there for the injured party. The Mother only knows what will become of the bond because of it."

Harry was confused. Hopeful, definitely, but confused. What bond? What harm, for that matter? Harm to him? He didn't really care so long as he wasn't standing there and watching Draco die. He kept telling himself that he'd feel that way about anyone in Draco's position, but deep down a part of him questioned that. The need to save the blond was strong, stronger than anything he'd ever felt. Stronger even than his common sense. The tone of Rosalind's voice should have warned him of the dangers but all he could think about was that this was a chance he couldn't pass up.

"It is their only chance, my love." Soren's eyes released their hold on Harry and softened as his attention shifted to his mate. For a brief moment, Harry felt as though he was intruding on a private moment. He had a ridiculously strange urge to look at Draco, all of a sudden, and it took nearly every ounce of strength within him to fight that off. Had it not been for Soren's voice continuing, he might have given in under the incredible pressure in his chest. "There is much more at work here than just a bond. You know what will happen if the boy dies. As much as I wish I didn't have to say this, it's not just about them. This is about all of us."

For a moment it looked as though Rosalind was going to continue arguing, her rigid frame still standing firmly between Soren and Draco, but after several long moments, Harry spotted her shoulders drooping. Whatever Soren had been talking about, she clearly seemed to understand, which only confused Harry all the more. "What do I have to do?" he asked, hoping that they'd finally tell him something that might make some sense. He couldn't help imagining that Draco's life ebbed away with each passing moment as they stood there arguing. Not true, of course, but the urgency within him held firmly to the concept.

"You have to give him your blood freely," Soren responded calmly, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. It really was quite simple, in the end. "His own body can't create the energy needed to heal the wounds from the wolves. Your own blood, however, has properties within it that will allow him to overcome the weaknesses in his own. You must let the boy feed off of you."

Perhaps it was the wording Soren used, but Harry suddenly found himself not so sure in his resolve. Some part of him warned against such a thing. He couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't be agreeing to this. That something terrible could happen to both of them if he were to allow this. "Feed off of me? Why does it have to be me?" he asked, taking a step away from both Soren and the bed where Draco's prone form lay. He couldn't pinpoint the exact reason but he had a feeling that by allowing Draco to drink his blood, he would be admitting something. Agreeing to something. He felt like he'd be crossing a line he could never come back from. "Why can't he just drink Dragon blood … like I did?"

Soren didn't move closer when Harry took a step back. Harry's instincts were exerting themselves and it would be difficult to push the subject too quickly. With Rosalind maintaining the Wizard's current health, he had the time to make Harry understand. "Dragon's blood is too potent for a mere Wizard to dilute. It will eat away at his own magic and leave him weaker than he is right now, which will only allow the room needed for his wounds to kill him. The only blood that he will be able to ingest is yours, Harry. That's it."

Harry shook his head. This made no sense at all. Why the bloody hell did it have to be his? He and Draco had nothing in common. Hell, Lothair was just as much of a git as Draco was, why couldn't it be Lothair's blood he needed. "There's no connection between us. We're rivals … enemies ..." Harry made the mistake then to glance over at the profile of Draco's pale face, the colour making the bruises on his face look all the worse. Were the enemies? He was pretty sure an enemy didn't make you feel this way. Becoming an Elf and joining this realm was suppose to help him find his place, but he was even more confused than he'd been living outside of it. He wasn't entirely sure what he was suppose to be doing now that the past and the present were trying to fuse together. Was there room in this new life for slivers of his old? More importantly, did he want Draco to be one of the few sliver's he was going to allow in?

Soren remained silent for several moments just watching him. This wasn't what happened to most Elves when they came into their heritage and he felt sorry that Harry had to experience it this way. It really was a beautiful thing when given the time to grow. "Why do you think you were able to sense him when he was in danger, Harry?" Inside himself, Harry knew what it meant. He might not be putting the pieces together just yet, but he would. "There is a bond between the two of you. That is why it has to be your blood. He's not going to respond anyone else."

Harry remained silent, his eyes trained still on Draco's face. A bond? There was a bond between him and Draco? It didn't make sense. There couldn't be a bond that strong between them. There just couldn't be. On the other hand, could he risk saying no? What would happen if he did? "He'll be alright, then?" he asked, turning his head back to look back at Soren. "If I do this?"

He'd been expecting Soren to respond to him, but it was Rosalind who spoke first. He could tell she was still slightly annoyed by the tightness in her voice, but she seemed to want to explain her thoughts. "Yes, he'll be perfectly fine," she answered, her hands resting on her hips. "But this isn't something you should take lightly. It can't be undone. Once you enhance the bond further, you'll be forever connected. You can try all you want, but you'll never lose that connection. He will live along side you, sharing your blood, for as long as you walk this earth. A perfect counterpart."

That was a big thing to place on someone who really didn't have a say in the matter. Who knew if Draco would wake up in time to ask him, nor did they know if he would be able to honestly understand the gravity of the situation. It was human nature to fight in order to survive. Harry, himself, was having a hard enough time looking past the fact that Draco might be dying to fully grasp what Soren and Rosalind were trying to tell him. They acted as though it was a choice, but it really wasn't. If he said no and Draco ended up dying, he'd never be able to move past that. Draco's blood would be forever on his hands, unable to wash off. In the back of his mind he'd always blame himself. On top of that, who was he to decide whether or not Draco lived. Sure, the thought of watching him die made Harry physically ill, but so did taking such a choice away from the Slytherin.

"I'll do it," the answer, despite being the only choice he really had, still surprised him. It wasn't the yes that caught him off guard, but the almost nervous energy that came with the response. It was nervous energy of the kind that made him strangely excited. A part of him still insisted that he was embarking on something he really shouldn't, but there was another part of him that was looking forward to it and he felt absolutely terrible for that. Here he was binding himself to another person without their consent and he was happy about it. Merlin, he really hoped he wasn't around when the news had to be broken. Draco might get to keep his life, but Harry was sure the blond was going to kill him when he found out. It wouldn't matter that Harry had done the only thing he could do. He knew Draco's temper and was well aware how this was going to play out and still he asked, "What do I have to do?"

Soren hid a smile as Harry agreed to the situation. He had never doubted that the boy would make the right choice. He could tell that Rosalind was not pleased with the outcome, but she would come around in time. She was just worried for their safety and the development of the bond between the boys. But unlike Rosalind, Soren knew instinctively that there was more to this particular Wizard than met the eye. There was a sadness around him that Soren couldn't help but notice, even in his unconscious state. Harry's actions had only cemented the idea into his mind. This was what was meant to happen. The balance would be restored as it should have been and Harry would be one step closer to finally coming into himself.

"It's going to take me a few hours to organize the procedure," Rosalind sighed, letting her hands fall from her hips. She really didn't want to do this, but there were few on the medical staff that she could trust with such a procedure. At least Harry now understood a little of what he was getting into and that was something. Not much, but something. "There's nothing you really have to do but show up, Harry, though I would prefer if you didn't eat or drink anything for the next couple of hours. The amount of blood we need for the transfusion will make you a bit dizzy and I'd prefer not to be thrown up on."

Harry nodded, seeing the dismissal in her posture. He didn't like being confused and lately that's all he'd been was confused. Even his own body had betrayed him. He didn't even like Draco and yet he was willing to do almost anything to keep him alive. For the love of Merlin, he was all but excited at the prospect of having Draco around. This time last year he would have laughed at the very idea. With a final glance at the blond, he turned and headed back through the door. He needed some air, at the very least. There was far too much going through his mind at the moment and he needed to clear it out.

* * *

"We were interrupted, My Lord. The Prince arrived before we could even make it to camp."

If there was one thing Roland hated it was failure, particularly at the hands of the realm .This time around, the presence of that Potter brat only fuelled the flames of his already deadly temper. "You mean to tell me that a mere fledgling who knows absolutely nothing of his powers or the realm had you turning back with your damn tails between your legs?"

It would have been wise not to answer, one might suppose, but in this case it didn't really matter. The unlucky messenger faced the entire ire of the Elf alone and cowered beneath his own fear and the dark look in his Lord's eye. It did not bode well for his survival. "He wasn't alone. The High Lords arrived only minutes after he did, with the full extent of the royal guard. Lothair, particularly, looked enraged by the whole of it. It's not unwise to choose your battles and that was one we would not have won."

It was all but impossible to see Roland's movements with the naked eye and even having the enhanced sight of a werewolf didn't allow the messenger enough of a chance to block the silver dagger that flashed toward him. It's blade easily sliced through the thick cords of muscle and skin of the wolf's neck with a hiss of burning flesh, the smell fouling the air around them and the last lingering cry of the wolf as it's eyes glazed over with death. "I will choose your battles!" Roland sneered, jerking the knife from it's victim with a sickening sound. He wasn't nearly satisfied with the kill and it only took a second for his eyes to snap to the messenger's second, narrowing at the sight of the much smaller wolf. "You! Tell me how the Prince knew of your location."

"There was a mortal," he stuttered, his haste to please the murderous Elf in front of him evident in the slight shake of his hands. "A boy. The Prince chanced the river in order to save him. He barely paid any attention to the wolves or what was happening around him. Word in the forest has it that the boy was taken to the castle and the Wolves second in command is there as well, by order of the Prince. The Prince, apparently blames the Alpha's pack for the condition the boy was in when he was found."

Roland's eyes stayed on the creature in front of him, watching for any signs of deceit. When he was satisfied with what he found he straightened and easily slid the dagger, blood and all, into the sheath on his hip. "You're dismissed," he growled, turning his back on his audience before continuing, "And take that trash with you. It's starting to smell." As the wolf behind him scrambled to pull his fallen comrade from the tent, Roland's thoughts drifted. A mortal. He thought, a slow twisted smile stretching across his face as the plan easily unravelled before him. One Potter would risk himself for. Now that sounds like a weakness to me. "It's about time we have a man in the thick of things," he chuckled, taking a seat. His eyes focused on the maps laid out on the table in front of him, but he was seeing something much different. "Bring me the spy. It's about time he does something useful."

* * *

"YOU'RE DOING WHAT?"

"I'm giving Draco my blood."

Gwynn just blinked in response. That was the second time he'd said that and she still couldn't wrap her mind around it. Harry said it as though it was something that happened everyday. Sure, perhaps blood transfusions in the Wizarding and Muggle world were no big deal, but this wasn't either of those places. There blood wasn't the same as Wizards and Muggles. There was so much more to it and she was positive that Harry didn't understand what he was doing. "You've got to be kidding me? Soren agreed to this? Rosalind agreed to this?" It just didn't make sense. There was only one time in an Elf's life that they shared their body or blood and this didn't exactly seem like a bonding ceremony … at least none of the ones she'd witnessed. This was just … wrong.

Harry frowned. He was really tired of getting the third degree about this. What else was he suppose to do? Let Draco die? He'd never be able to live with himself if he didn't do what he could to help. He didn't understand why it had to be him to supply Draco with the needed blood, but if that's what he had to do than that's what he had to do. Hell, he didn't even know why he kept calling him Draco. "I'm saving a life, Gwynn. What more do you want from me? He needs my help."

Rolling her eyes, Gwynn reached out and slapped him upside the back of the head. "You idiot. Do you even know what this means?"

Harry glared at her, a hand rubbing the back of his head. For being a girl she certainly had an arm on her. That had bloody well hurt. "Of course, I do. Rosalind said it would bind us together. Connected. Forever. I get it."

"It's not just some bond, Harry," she responded with a sigh, taking the spot beside him. Someone had to tell him what he was getting into and if the High Lords wouldn't do it than she supposed she was just going to bite the bullet, as they say. "You'll never be bonded to anyone else. You and your friend will share two halves of one soul. He will take on some of the Elven traits until he's fully bonded to you. His ageing will slow. His senses will gradually increase. When this is all done and over with, Draco will be your Mate. He will be the submissive to your dominant. Forever."

Harry just stared at her. She'd finally lost it. Snapped. Crazy. He and Draco? Mates? No. Absolutely not. The would be bonded, not mates. It was, by far, the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Just because you share a little blood doesn't mean you're connected in that capacity. Sure, it's intimate, he guessed, but that was it. He stomach turned at the thought of Draco becoming submissive to anyone. He'd absolutely loath the idea. In fact, Harry didn't even know how Draco would react to it and that thought scared him the most. "You're wrong. You have to be."

"I'm not. Sharing your blood with someone, particularly a human, is not something to be taken lightly."

It didn't help. The warnings, the worry, nothing helped. It still came down to the fact that Harry couldn't just let him die. He felt responsible. He should have gotten there sooner and none of this would have happened. A brief stab of anger burned hotly through him as he thought about the Wolves. They were resting somewhere in the castle and that bothered him greatly. Soren said he needed to speak with them, but had refused to tell Harry where exactly they were staying. He'd never been a violent person but at the moment all he wanted to do was rip the lot of them a new one. After a moment he sighed, offering her a small shrug. "I don't have another option," he admitted, more of his fear slipping into his tone than he would have liked. It wasn't fear for himself or what being bonded to Draco would mean for him. He was worried about what all of this would mean for Draco. It would alienate him from the world he was used to. He wouldn't be just a wizard any longer. At a moment like this, Ron would have insisted that the blond was the next in line for the dark mark and what if he was? What was going to happen then? Would the bond cancel out any desire Draco had of selling Harry out to Voldemort? Everything was far too complicated.

"So," Gwynn started, accepting the fact that Harry was set on doing what he had to. She didn't really know a thing about the relationship between the two boys, but it seemed that Harry cared a lot about him. After all, who would risk something like this in order to save another. There was a time for everything to die and he was fighting very hard to make sure this wasn't the time for Draco. "Tell me about him?"

Harry raised a surprised eyebrow. "What?"

"Tell me about him," she pushed, returning his stunned look with an amused chuckle. "After all, I get the feeling he's going to be around a while. Might be a good idea to know something about him." She was a little curious, she had to admit. Outside of Harry, himself, she'd never really known anyone from outside the realm. Most Elves didn't leave the boundaries. Those who did were members of the military or political figures such as the High Lords. Neither group included her.

"Oh," Harry paused, flushing slightly. The colour stained his cheeks softly as his eyes remained hidden behind the fringe of his hair. What was he suppose to say? That they hated each other? He highly doubted she was going to appreciate the fact that he was binding himself to an enemy rather than a friend. "Well, we go to the same school. He's a Slytherin and I'm Gryffindor, rival houses and all that. He plays Quidditch, like I do. Same position and everything. He's a decent player, but he'd be better if he focused more on finding the snitch than showing me up." He grinned at that, shifting to pull his feet up onto the bottom rung of the fence he was sitting on. He had to admit that he rather liked the way they tried to outdo each other. It made the win all the better if he'd had to earn it. "He's a pureblood, of course, and he takes great pleasure in making sure everyone knows it."

"What's a Pureblood?"

The question caused Harry to pause in his thoughts of Draco. What did it mean? It seemed to transfer over boundaries. No matter where he went, he didn't seem to be able to avoid it. "It means he comes from a family of Wizards. His bloodline has never been mixed with a non-magical bloodline." He wondered if this would be appealing to her, to the others here. Was he the outcast because of his Mother's bloodline. They all seemed to condemn those like Roland because of their mixed bloodline. Would they do the same for him if they found out. His eyes sought out Gwynn and he watched her take that in. No disgust or pleasure flitted across her face and for that he was grateful. He didn't want to have to defend Draco against the only friend he really had in the realm. In fact, she really didn't look all that interested in the matter.

Seeing the question in his eyes, she shrugged. "When he ingests your blood, he'll become an Elf. Anything else in his blood will be expelled, just as it was for you. There will be nothing to distinguishing him from the rest of us."

Harry frowned slightly at that, but didn't comment. Perhaps Draco would have more in common with this society than Harry, himself, would. Purity seemed to be a big deal. "Hey Gwynn," he hedged, "can I ask you something?"

Turning from where she was watching a passing group of soldiers, she raised an eyebrow. It was odd that he asked first. It was even more strange that he seemed to be nervous about asking. "Why is it that the Elven realm has no contact with the Wizarding?"

She took a moment to think about how to word her response. She may not be the most delicate of females, but even she could understand from where his question stemmed. "It's nothing based on prejudice," she started, frowning slightly. "We used to. There were trade networks and everything, but that was ages ago. The human world was young then, they hadn't quite developed the taste for bloodshed that they are rumoured to have now. It's not really talked about anymore, merely stressed that our detachment from that world was detrimental to the survival of the Kingdom and our race." It had been a long time since Gwynn has sat through a history lesson and it was more difficult than she'd like to admit to remember all of the details. "There was pressure for weapons and magic greater than what the humans were producing. They'd wanted us to help them win a conflict and grew angry when we refused. Many of our liaisons to that world were slain because of it. After the killings continued over the course of a year, we withdrew completely, sealing our borders to any outside of this realm."

Harry couldn't argue with that. Was that not what the entire Wizarding world was about at the moment? Everyone was caught up in one side of the war. Hell, people flocked behind his name alone and it didn't matter what he did, right or wrong, so long as he stopped Voldemort. The end justified the means. There was one thing that bothered him about her answer. "Draco crossed the border."

Gwynn held his eyes for a long, meaningful moment before she responded, "Which makes him the first human to have done so in over two centuries." The meaning behind those words lingered in the air. Something was changing and neither one of them were sure whether or not it would be a change for the better.


	10. A Bond of Blood, A Future of Trouble

"You should never have offered him the solution, Soren!" It had been an hour since Harry had left them. An hour in which Rosalind had continuously voiced her opinions. As the lead healer for Jade Manor, she had every authority to question the decision made and voice it she did. Even though Harry had agreed and, therefore, sealed the arrangement, the decision did not sit well with her. "This could tear them apart and you know very well what would arise if such a thing should happen. You do not interfere with a mate bond. You, of all people, should know this."

"I know, love."

"Don't you "love" me!" She shot back, hands planted firmly on her hips and glaring up at her mate as though the eight inch height difference didn't exist. For being as small as she was, she had a distinct ability to look down on an individual no matter their height or position. "You had best have an extraordinary reason for manipulating the Dark Prince as you did."

Soren had made a move to deny that claim, but Rosalind's sharp eyes had already pounced on it. "Don't argue with me. It was manipulation at it's finest. You prayed on his emotions. Plain and simple."

Behind him, Soren heard the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat. Refraining from immediately responding to his mate, he turned to glance back, finding Lothair and Ilaria watching them with interest. It was proof enough of his distraction that he had not heard them enter. Illaria had the presence of mind to hold a stoic expression, even if her eyes flashed briefly with her amusement. Lothair, unsurprisingly, did nothing to hide the amused smirk that lingered on his pale features. He was, quite clearly, finding the situation particularly amusing, much to Soren's growing irritation.

Narrowing his eyes at the other male, Soren slowly turned back to face his angry mate. "Perhaps we can all sit down and have a proper discussion about what's going to take place?" His tone was hesitant and slightly strained, but he maintained his relaxed posture. There was a perfectly good reason why the blood exchange should take place. If he had the chance to explain in full, perhaps they would also see the benefits to the situation. He did, however, also agree that there were possible negative side affects to rushing the bond, but in this instance, he sincerely believed the good out weighted the bad.

After a tense moment, Rosalind's hands slipped from their firm position on her hips. "A discussion it is," he nodded, turning and immediately leading the way back toward her office. If they were going to be going through with whatever ridiculous plan her mate was scheming, she was at least going to be preparing while he tried to explain himself. A blood transfusion and the initiating of such a high level bond wasn't easy work. She was going to have her hands completely full and there was very little that would keep her from being completely prepared for the responsibility.

As lead Healer, Rosalind had the advantage of having more than just a simple office. Once through the door, the space widened out to include her personal office, medical storage, a lab, and a conference room. It was not uncommon for her to have trainees working in the lab or fellow healers converging in the conference room. That day, however, the space was wonderfully silent. Reaching the appropriate door, she ushered the three High Lords through. Taking a moment longer, she moved to her office to gather what notes she could on the procedure and returned to the others.

"Let's hear this wonderful explanation then," she urged, setting the files down in front of her, "for what reason will I be spending the vast majority of my skills and patience on rushing such a bond?"

Soren did not miss the hard glint in Rosalind's eyes. He knew that should he stall, he would not be able to contain the situation. As much as he loved the woman, he knew when not to push her. "I'm sure it has not escaped any of your notice that this human is not what he seems," he started, earning the expected glower from Lothair and the curious expression from Ilaria. "Harry insists that he had no part in allowing the mortal through the wards and as he has not touched that section of his training as of yet, I'm inclined to believe him. The only other individuals who can manipulate the realms wards are sitting in this room."

"Are you trying to say that one of us let the brat through?" Lothair snapped, looking as disgusted by the prospect as he sounded. "You really have lost your mind."

"Of course, not, Lothair," Soren sighed, growing rather tired with the younger Elf's continued tantrums. He might have the long life of the Elves, but he was certainly getting too old to deal with a bunch of children. "I'm not saying anything of the sort. Though none of us actively assisted him, the mortal still managed to enter into the realm. There is only Harry and yourself, Lothair, who have not bonded. As I doubt that you are interested in the mortal, I'm going to assume that Harry's connection to this mortal was what saved him from being destroyed by the wards. There is already a bond between the Dark Prince and his mortal. Harry assumes it is a rivalry, but that alone would not have saved him. It is something much more than a petty childhood rivalry. There is no other explanation."

This time, it was Ilaria who spoke up, a small frown on her face. "If there was a bond between the two, it would have stemmed from Harry's time within the human world. Prior to his inheritance. A mortal bond would not have survived once Harry accepted his elven heritage. It would have been eradicated with his Wizarding blood and he hasn't been in contact with the mortal world since his transformation."

Soren nodded. "Exactly. This isn't a normal bond. I'm positive that this mortal will become Harry's consort in time. I believe the two are meant to be bound mind, body, and soul. This is why I mentioned the transfusion. Yes, I agree that the bond should, if given the opportunity, flourish on it own. However, we don't have the option of letting it take it's course. If the mortal dies now, Harry will not be able to handle the influx of power he'll receive during his coronation."

Ilaria sighed, drawing their attention. "There's a darkness in the Prince," she started, letting her mind move through the images that rose to the forefront, "I've seen it rise up during his training only for him to force it back down. For the moment, he's been successful at keeping it controlled, but I can't say he'll continue to be so. There's something preventing him from facing it completely. He forces it down and ignores it. If this boy is what he needs to final take control, then I agree with Soren. The transfusion is needed. If he continues as he is, I'm afraid that darkness will overtake him and all will be lost."

"We can't tell him the significance of the bond."

All eyes turned to Lothair in surprise, earning an irritated sneer from the Elf. Always with the surprise.

"No. He needs to come to the realization on his own," Soren agreed, running a tired hand over his face as he thought it through. "If we tell him before he's ready he'll pull back. The bond will suffer and his resolve to see his responsibilities through will break beneath the weight of his stress and fear. His perceived responsibilities to the Wizarding world already weight heavily on him. Another aspect we will have to tackle."

There was silence around the table for several long moments, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Rosalind, for her part, still did not agree with the situation one hundred percent, but there was little that she could do to prevent it. She couldn't heal the boy without the influence of Harry's blood and unless the boy was conscious, the two could not form the bond naturally.

"Well," she sighed, gathering up her papers with a resigned look, "I suggest that you prepare yourselves. This is going to be a long and difficult night. I shall need all of your strength."

* * *

Things were not falling into place as they should and his patience was being strained far past the point of safe return. Since the Potter brat had arrived within the realm, his plans had been gradually going astray. First the outburst brought forth by Lothair's barbed words, then the disobedience of the wolves, followed by the failure of destroying the beasts. Slowly, things were falling into place for the High Lords and their wayward orphan. The entire thing only served to boil Roland's blood.

No matter. He would see things return to the proper order. He would see the fall of the Kingdom he so hated. He'd watched each of the High Lords fall. He'd make sure Soren was saved for last. Let him watch his fellow High Lords succumb to death and then let him see the royal bloodline finally snuffed out. It would happen. He would make sure of it.

"And you are positive you will be able to acquire a position within the palace?"

"Yes, my Lord. I have several reliable contacts within the Jade Manor who are working on it as we speak."

"Understand this, Elf," Roland's tone was low and just as deadly as his temper, "No one is to suspect you. Gain Potter's trust, but stay under the High Lords attention. They will not be so easily fooled." No. Soren, in particular, would be able to sniff out the deceit. Potter was the flaw in the palace. He would be the one to target. "If you fail in your task, beg the High Lords for mercy as you won't find it with me."

"Yes, my Lord. I will not fail you."

With a rustle of a cloak and quick footsteps, Roland was once again alone. His thoughts trained intently on what he was ready to begin, a slow and malicious smirk stretching across his features as a single red eye peered out from beneath the curtain of black hair. "I hope your little Prince is ready, Soren."

* * *

There were certain things about being in the Elven realm that Harry particularly loved. The hot springs, for instance, were something Harry was immensely fond of. The water stemmed from deep below the manor, reaching up to break the rock at several points. There were three separate spots in the city where bathing houses had been established to take advantage of the naturally heated water. The last vein ran directly into the manor where it was split off into two separate locations. The first was designated for those who lived and remained in the Manor. The second was, to Harry's surprise and delight, specifically for his use. When Gwynn had mentioned taking some time to relax and prepare himself for the ritual taking place that evening, Harry had instantly thought of the hot spring.

Dragging Gwynn along with him, despite her continuous blushing and stammering that she was not allowed into his private bathing room, he'd led her back through the manor. Asking one of the servants to find something for Gwynn to wear, he left her in the woman's capable hands before disappearing into the hot spring. It was beautiful really. The moment you stepped into the room, it felt like you were outside with the sun shining down on you, warming your skin. Rocks jutted out from the far wall, as though the entire room and been built into the side of the mountain, and cascading down in layers. Trees grew without a care to their surroundings, providing some privacy and a feeling of tranquillity as the water was circulated and filtered through three levels. The lowest level had a large pool of water, starting shallow before deepening gradually. A small rock cut lined the far side, providing a ledge for individuals to sit or jump off of, if the need arose. The second level contained three smaller, more personal, size pools. Each was separated by space and foliage that they granted the user some semblance of privacy. The final level was Harry's favourite. There was only one pool located here and hidden by falling water, that cascaded from the top of the rocks to fill the pool just below it before trailing down to bring fresh water to the pools below. It was gorgeous. With falling water on one side and gleaming stone on the others, it was the perfect retreat from the world.

Harry had been stunned by the sheer size of the room when he'd first seen it. He'd wondered why any one person would need so much room, but the answer had hit him not long after. It was not meant for one person. It was meant for a family. The thought had hit him hard. He didn't have a family to share this with. Sure, there was the Weasleys. They were the closest thing to a family Harry had ever known...but he wouldn't be able to share this with them. He'd done enough reading on his own to know that Humans were not permitted to enter the realm under any circumstances. Unless they were all changed, Harry would not be permitted to share his new home with them.

A darker sense of loneliness settled over him, his thoughts shifting to the blond he'd left unconscious in the medical wing. Draco had somehow managed to get through the wards when no one else had been able to. He'd been injured and weak and yet, somehow, he'd gotten through. Harry had known the moment the wards had been breached. He'd instinctively known that the Slytherin had been hurt; that he'd  _needed_  Harry. In the past Harry had experienced a similar sense of foreboding with his visions, but this had been entirely different. He hadn't seen any images flash before his eyes. He hadn't been trapped in a nightmare, watching the scenes unfold. He'd felt it. He'd felt everything Draco had been feeling; the pain, the desperation, the fear. It had fed Harry's own emotions until nothing else could penetrate the haze. He hadn't known who needed his help then, but he'd been desperate to make it in time.

Everyone had been suggesting that a bond between the two of them might have already existed, but Harry was not so sure. There was no explanation as to why said bond would form. He and Draco were worlds apart. He was the son of a Death Eater, Harry was suppose to spend his life fighting Voldemort. One was light and the other dark. The only thing they had ever shared was an intense dislike for each other.

Then why had he been so concerned with whether or not the blond would live? Dislike would not have fed the concern.

Harry couldn't entirely come up with a plausible answer to that. He'd tried to assume it was because he simply didn't want to be responsible for another death. His error had killed Sirius. How many others had died because he had yet to stop Voldemort? Draco, perhaps, was merely his chance to actually save someone instead of putting them in danger...though, he was pretty sure tying Draco to him was only putting the blond in further danger. It would be a weakness that Voldemort and even Roland wouldn't miss. Still, the excuse did not sit well with him and he had no other explanation to try.

"You know, you insinuate certain things when you invite people into your bathing room!"

Harry started at the sudden sound of Gwynn's voice as it's irritated tones echoed off the stone around them. Jerking around, he found her standing on the edge of the pool, her hands on her hips and a dark look pointed directly at him. It was strange to see her out of her training gear, but it was not an unpleasant experience. It appeared as though the servant had found her appropriate clothing, if the tightly fitting short and tank top were anything to go by. "Uh...sorry?"

"They offered me a towel." She snapped and Harry was surprised to see a bright red flush spread across her irritated features. "Just a towel!"

Harry blinked for several long moments before the pieces seemed to slip into place and he choked back a laugh. He honestly tried to keep his amusement in check, but the look on Gwynn's face paired with his sudden understanding succeeded in preventing such a thing. It took barely any time for his laughter to escape him, filling the area with the rich sound. It had been a long time since he'd laughed so freely.

"It's not funny, Harry! There's going to be rumours now!"

This did nothing to impress upon Harry the seriousness of the situation. It only caused him to laugh all the harder. Infuriated by the amusement he found at her plight, Gwynn growled and jumped toward him, knocking him back beneath the water with a startled cry. For a moment, they struggled, Harry attempting to push Gwynn away while Gwynn tried to hold his head under the surface of the water for longer than Harry would have liked.

Finally managing to push her off, Harry broke the surface coughing up some of the water he'd swallowed in his surprise. "Alright, alright," he grumbled, pushing his now soaked hair out of his face and pinning her with a glare of his own. "I'm sorry. I don't see what the big deal is anyway! We're just relaxing."

"The big deal," She flushed all the more at that, "is that they now think there is something inappropriate going on. You invited a girl into your bathing room, Harry! You didn't even do so quietly. Innocent intentions or not, the whole castle will know by daybreak!"

Harry supposed he could see what she was getting at. In his defence, however, he didn't think of this place as a bathing room. To him it was more of a swimming pool. He'd just assumed that if he couldn't share it with the family he was suppose to have, he could share it with his friends...or at least the one he currently had. "No offence, Gwynn, but you're definitely not my type," he offered, an amused smile flickering across his face at that.

Rolling her eyes, Gwynn shoved water in his direction before accepting the fact that Harry really had no idea what he was doing half the time. She knew he hadn't meant to make it look like there was anything going on between the two of them...still, that didn't mean she was looking forward to having to face Terrak and the others in the training room. She just knew they'd jump all over the opportunity to make fun of her. Shifting back until she was sitting on a submerged ledge across from Harry, she pinned him with a curious look. "Is that why you went after that human? Are you attracted to him?"

Having returned to floating on his back, Harry jerked at the comment and sent himself back under the water. Popping up a moment later, he glared at her once again. "No," he snapped, pushing the hair out of his face for a second time. "That's ridiculous. We don't even like each other." Attraction? What a stupid suggestion! Of course they weren't attracted to each other. Hell, from the rumours circulating Hogwarts, Draco wasn't even sitting on the same side of the fence as Harry and there was a trail of broken hearts to prove it.

Gwynn's eyebrow rose at the vehement denial. "So, you're binding yourself to a complete enemy that you're not attracted to," she hesitated, for a moment before rolling her eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

It was not an opinion Harry was unfamiliar with. Gwynn had been trying to wrap her mind around his decision since he'd mentioned it to her an hour or so earlier. She kept trying to see it from different angles only to come up with the same end. Harry was an idiot. With nothing to argue, Harry groaned and sunk back under the water and out of Gwynn's view point.

* * *

The hot springs had turned out to be a failure of epic proportions. Rather than the relaxed state he'd wanted to be in, Gwynn's questions had succeeded in making Harry question his own resolve. Was he really doing the right thing? Yes, Draco would live, but what if he preferred death to being bonded to Harry is such a fashion. What if he  _did_ choose death once he found out? Could he stand by and allow that to happen? Even without taking the time to consider, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to. Out of all the confusion and fear that was currently wrapped around him, Harry knew one thing for sure: Draco Malfoy was not allowed to die. He couldn't decide why this was, but he knew things would go bad very quickly should Malfoy suddenly cease to live. The blond played some part in this political game, Harry just wasn't sure which role he was suppose to play.

By the time he'd arrived back in the medical ward, dressed casually in deep-green trousers and a white tunic, Harry couldn't help but exude his nervousness. Soren had felt it the moment the boy had stepped into the room. Sharing a brief look with Rosalind, he excused himself and move to meet Harry. The green eyes had immediately searched out the one occupied bed in the ward and Soren had easily read the indecision within their depths. Moving to block the Harry's sight of the prone form, Soren stopped and greeted him formerly, drawing Harry's attention towards him. "Might I have a word, my Lord?"

Harry frowned. Soren was normally not so formal with him, even after Harry had offended him, Soren had remained mostly casual with him. This sudden switch did not help to alleviate Harry's unease, rather it intensified the feeling. "Yeah," he nodded, eyeing the other elf suspiciously. "Sure."

Motioning Harry to follow him, Soren guided him toward the far end of the wing and away from the mortal who seemed to attract Harry's attention with relative ease. Once they were out of earshot, Soren turned back to study Harry intently. "You're afraid."

It was a simple statement of fact, but it made Harry bristle slightly. "I'm not afraid!" he responded, immediately. The moment the words left his mouth, Harry knew it was a lie. He was terrified of what was going to happen. He was afraid of the repercussions. No one could assure him that everything would work out for the best, though they tried to do just that through their smiles or quiet comments. They were all just as worried about this as Harry, himself, was. All except Soren. He was the one pillar of assurance standing within the storm of Harry's raging emotions and doubt.

After a moment of collecting his thoughts, Harry tried a different route. "Are you positive that there is no other way to save him?" If there was some way that didn't involve taking Draco's choice from him, Harry would gladly accept. Who else would know of the possibilities if not the elf standing in front of him. Like Dumbledore before him, Harry looked to trust him implicitly. Perhaps it would turn out to be a mistake in the end, but Harry needed that assurance if he was going to find within himself the strength to face all of the responsibilities and obligations that were facing him not only in this current situation, but also his role as ruler. He needed to have someone to trust in when everyone else was looking to him.

The emotions did not escape Soren as he stood there, looking into the eyes of a boy given the weight of two worlds to carry. Soren had plenty of his own responsibilities to contend with, but he would gladly be the constant in Harry's life if that was what he needed to fulfil his destined role. As a High Lord, that was what he'd been appointed for. This was his choice and his purpose. "There is nothing else that can be done to restore the mortal to his former health. He can remain beneath the stabilization spells for another few weeks before his health will begin to deteriorate beneath the magical quality of his wounds. His magic levels are not strong enough to destroy the foreign influence of the wounds inflicted by the wolves."

Soren's posture and tone told Harry all that he needed to know. If there was another possible way, Soren would have steered him in that direction. His choice now was based on pure necessity. If Harry wanted to save Malfoy, this was what was needed. Beneath the weight of that realization, Harry could admit to being afraid. "I'm worried about the repercussions," he admitted quietly, shifting his position so he could peer past Soren's taller form and find the occupied bed at the other end of the hall. Draco, even now, looked deathly pale and that made Harry's entire body thrum with an urgent energy. "I'm worried about his reaction. It isn't going to be positive."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the weight of Soren's hand settling on his shoulder. Returning his slightly widened eyes toward the Elder, he found an understanding smile on the face of the other elf. "To every good there is a negative. That is what balances the world around us," he responded, giving Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before releasing him. "It's the weight that goes with every significant decision we make. What you have to decide, Harry, is whether or not the good outweighs the bad. Perhaps he will respond negatively to what we've done, but is that enough to change your mind? Is that enough to make you decide that he is better off left to his fate?"

Harry frowned at that. He knew well how he felt about Malfoy no longer being a part of his life, but could he happily deal with the Slytherin's unhappiness in order to ensure he did not perish. Was having Malfoy in this world more important than the fact that Harry might face his wrath? The answer was simple. Yes. If it meant having Malfoy forever despise him for what he'd done, Harry would accept that without question. Hating him was Draco's right. At least he would be alive in his hate.

Steeling himself against his resolve, Harry took a deep, calming breath and nodded. "Let's do it then."

Soren nodded, hiding his smile as he turned. With Harry's resolve, he was sure that no matter how rocky the next few weeks were, they'd all pull through. He was certain that this was part of the overall plan. Harry could use an equal, someone to strive to do better for, someone who could push him forward more than any of the High Lords could. More importantly, he needed a connection to his old life. Harry would never fit into his role if he couldn't combine the two parts of himself into a coherent single. This mortal, no matter who or what role he had played in the past, would prove to play the most significant role yet.

* * *

It was strange to feel so comfortable sitting on bed in a hospital wing. There was a great difference between Madam Pomfrey and Rosalind, but the similarity of the two situations had a strangely calming affect on him. How often had he sat in the Hospital wing at Hogwarts? The place had practically become his home away from home. Most would not find the smell associated with a medical ward comforting, but to Harry it was. It meant he'd survived...even if it only for a little longer. It was about as close to being safe as Harry had ever felt, which was saying a lot about the state of Harry's life up until then.

Many of the visits to Poppy had been a direct result of the blond laying in the next bed. Whether it be hexing each other or full out physically fighting, the two of them were forever being sent to either detention or the Hospital wing in direct consequence of their actions and short tempers. This time, however, Harry couldn't pretend that it was just another day. He couldn't pretend that they would be all healed up and sent on their way. He couldn't pretend that things were going to simply go back to the way they'd always been once this was all over. Things would change and Harry just hoped it would not be a change either of them would regret.

"Alright, Harry," Rosalind started, drawing the young man's attention back to her. It was crucial that Harry stay focused and determined throughout the process, otherwise the magic involved would taint their intent and the bond would not be formed as it should be, "your part in all of this is pretty simple. Normally, in this sort of bonding, the blood would be ingested orally. Given the state of the young man-"

"Draco."

Rosalind blinked for a moment at the promptly given name. For whatever reasons, Harry felt that she should know his given name, which in and of itself was a good sign. If there was a more personal understanding between the two then the bond was less likely to adapt an unequal standing. She did not wish to bind one in a lower position than the other. In order for this to work, they would need to be equals. "Given the state of Draco," she tried again, inserting the boy's name with a light smile, "ingesting the blood is not an option. What we'll be doing, instead, is very similar to what the non-magical world would refer to as a blood transfusion. I'll be directly guiding your blood into his system. Once his health has stabilized, I then will transfer a small portion of his blood into your veins. With your recent consumption of Dragon's blood, you should easily destroy any lingering werewolf DNA still clinging to the blood. Understand."

Harry wasn't really sure if he understood completely, but he nodded none the less. It was particularly difficult to focus with so many things running through his head. "Is it going to hurt him?" he asked, his concern morphing onto a new level as he recalled the pain he'd gone through as his body shifted and adjusted to his inheritance. On top of the wounds on his back, Harry wasn't entirely sure whether the blond could handle anymore physical pain.

For a moment Rosalind pondered on how best to approach this topic but it was soon clear to her that honesty was the best course of action, particularly since they would not be informing him of the nature of the bond he'd be creating. When things came to light, it would be better if only a small portion of information had been kept from him. "Unlike yourself, his changes are not going to be spread out over the course of weeks. He'll experience everything rapidly, which will go hand in hand with physical discomfort and pain," she admitted, though not giving him a moment to protest before she continued her explanation, "In his unconscious state, however, he should not be aware of it unless he regains said consciousness. It is, however, highly unlikely that he will. I don't expect him to awaken for several days after the procedure. His body will need the time to heal and stabilize his magical levels."

It wasn't exactly what Harry had wanted to hear, but it did what it could to sooth his worry and nervousness. He'd been surprised to see Illaria and Lothair still within the Infirmary when he'd arrived and his nervousness had only increased when he'd been told that their combined effort with Soren and Rosalind was needed in order to stabilize and maintain the magic needed to adopt such a change in Draco. Even without knowing the full details of what was about to happen, Harry could tell that this was significant on more than one level.

After another moment, he nodded, pulling up what little courage he could muster, and said, "Alright. What do I have to do?"

His willingness to continue was testament to his determination and Rosalind couldn't prevent the fond smile from forming on her pale features. He was a good boy, this Harry Potter. He would be a good match for the Kingdom in time. "Up on the bed, please," she responded, nodding toward the bed in which Draco lay. It had been expanded enough to fit a second body, but Harry wasn't entirely sure it had been expanded at all. The spot left open for him looked particularly tiny. "Up you get and roll up your sleeve, please. I'll need your wrist clear."

With a hesitant look to Soren as he rolled up his sleeve, Harry climbed up onto the spot beside Draco. As he'd assumed, the spot was not nearly as large as he'd been hoping. As he settled back against the pillow, his left shoulder was flush against Draco's. With the changes his inheritance had created in him, Harry noticed that rather the two of them were now roughly the same size. Before Draco had towered over Harry's smaller stature and now the only difference between them was the slightly wider set to Harry's shoulders. As he settled a part of him hoped that Draco's appearance wouldn't change too much. He didn't want to go back to being inferior. He liked the idea that they could be equals both mentally and physically.

"Alright, this is the easy part," Rosalind's voice interrupted his train of thought as she came to stand beside the bed. Reaching out, she took first Harry's wrist and applied a cold, oily substance to the skin there. Draco's soon followed and a moment later, a numbness began to spread through his wrist and forearm. Next Harry watched as she placed a small but deep incision on both his and Draco's wrist. Whatever she had applied to his skin seemed to have worked as Harry barely felt the knife pierce his skin. Once their wrists had been cut, she placed Harry's over Draco's, their wounds lining up perfectly as Soren stepped forward to bind their wrists together. With Draco laying on his stomach, their bound wrists lay comfortably between them.

The part of Harry that had grown up as a Muggle felt disgusted at the thought of his open wound being pressed to that of another. Diseases and germs were best passed in such a manner, but the larger part of him was more concerned with the process that was still to come. Nothing that needed four well trained and powerful elves to perform was simple. With every bit of magic used came a possible consequence and Harry couldn't' say one way or another that said consequence wasn't going to cause further problems for them both.

"Most of the ritual will be up to me to perform," Rosalind instructed, turning her full attention to Harry and stressing the importance of what she was about to say, "You, however, _must_  be able to keep a clear head once the ritual begins. As the magic in the room increases, you'll feel a heavy blanket settle over you. Do not panic. It's nothing out of the ordinary. Most importantly, however, you have to focus on Draco. It doesn't matter what you think about so long as he remains an equal in your thoughts. Do not place him above yourself or yourself above him. It will alter the process and the outcome will not be what was planned for. Understand?"

Harry nodded. There had been times in the past when that would have been an impossible task. It was strange that now it didn't seem so hard. Perhaps it had been watching the blond disappear beneath the rushing current or, perhaps, it had been the fear of finding him dead that had changed his outlook. Whatever it was, Harry no longer saw him as less. He was on equal footing with those Harry had cared about for years. Had it been Ron or Hermione, he would have done the same thing. If saving them had meant being bound to them, then so be it. Somewhere along the way, Draco had taken up a place beside them. He couldn't say when or where, but the deep sense of approval in his chest told him it was the truth.

"Alright, Harry," Rosalind's voice drew him from his musings, his green eyes moving to hers as she continued, "I need you to roll up your sleeve and lie back. I'm going to push the beds closer together so the distance the blood has to travel is minimal. It will speed up the process and your closeness to Draco will aid in guiding the magic."

There was a spark of nervous energy within him as he moved to do what he was told, rolling up the sleeve on his right arm. This was it. If he was going to back out then now was the time to do it. There would be no turning back once the ritual had begun. Knowing this, however, Harry still moved to lay down on the bed. Whatever it was guiding his actions held positive that this was the right course of action. As his head hit the pillow, he desperately hoped that it was.

The moment Harry was laying comfortably on the bed, Rosalind pocketed her wand. Among the Elves, a wand was not a necessity. It eased the strain of accessing one's magical core when simple tasks throughout the day, but for those who had strengthened their connection to the world around them, there was no need to draw on their magical core. In her line of work, Rosalind had grown accustomed with using her tying her magical core with the ever flowing energy of the earth. Jade Manor had not been placed idly. It had been built in the North on that exact spot because there natural lines of magic crossed. It was no difficult task for Rosalind to slip into those streams and gradually draw on the natural healing magic found there.

As Rosalind's magic began to permeate the air in the room, the three High Lords moved to their respective spots around the two young men. It was an impossible task for a single Elf to access all four of the elements. When the elements were combined, there was always the clash of those best suited to be opposite. A single person could not divide their conscious four ways in order to control the instincts and power of each element. Some had managed two elements, but they were never elements at odds with each other. Wind might strengthen Fire, but pushed to far and fire would slip out of control. That was why the others stood around them, each connecting to their own element; Soren as wind, Illaria as water, and Lothair as fire.

The bond between the boys was something born of nature itself. In order to further it's stages, they would need first the approval and cooperation of the elements as well as their heightened strength. The magic at the core of each Elf, while significant, was no substitute for the natural magic of the world.

Harry laid still, feeling the heavy press of unfamiliar magic surround him. It was strange to feel the press of it, but have a sense of calm settle over him as a result. By all rights, he shouldn't be calm. This was so far out of his comfort zone it was almost unimaginable. A few short weeks ago, he'd been a simple Wizard and now he was a magical creature being prepared to rule over an unfamiliar kingdom and surrounded by unfamiliar magic. By all rights, he should be terrified.

For a brief moment, Harry had an image of the Hogwarts Greenhouses flash through his mind. He could almost smell the fresh soil, see Neville's pleased smile as Madam Sprout praised him, see Ron poking their newest assignment with the end of his wand while Hermione scolded him. With it came a certain sense of loneliness. He missed Hogwarts. He missed his friends. Then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling disappeared and a warm hand rested on his arm. Opening his eyes, unaware when he'd even closed them, he found Rosalind standing beside him with a questioning look in her eyes. She didn't need to vocalize the question for Harry already knew what she was asking. "I'm ready."

Offering him a calming smile, Rosalind made a deep, two inch incision down his wrist. Harry expected to see blood instantly bloom, but was surprised to find only the vibrant red line marring his skin. Pulling his eyes from his wrist, Harry watched her repeat the action on Draco's pale wrist, only to receive the same result. With both wrists now prepared, Rosalind first took Harry's before placing Draco's over top of it, their skin pressing together. Harry was surprised to find the cool quality of Draco's touch and worried eyes shifted to Rosalind. Any questions he might have asked were put on hold as a draft ruffled the fringe of his hair and Soren appeared beside Rosalind, a white strip of fabric in his hand. Taking a moment to give Harry a reassuring nod, he began to wrap the fabric around their wrists, binding them together as Rosalind began to speak in low tones, the language unfamiliar to Harry's ears.

Once the fabric had been secured, Soren moved back to hold his earlier position. No longer sharing the space, Rosalind's words gained momentum and there was a flash of warmth at his wrist. He made to look, but with the warmth came a strong lethargic feeling. It didn't matter what was happening in the room, Harry relaxed back into the pillow, his entire body feeling much heavier than it had a moment before. His eyes were focused on the ceiling, but he did not see it. Glazed over, he relaxed back into the content feeling that was slowly spreading through him. How long he stayed like that, he couldn't say.

Rosalind, as she watched, made a nod of approval as the two boys reacted as they should when the process was started. They would remain unaware of the lengthy process that had been started. For them, time currently meant nothing. The older Elves, however, still had much to do. As the boys relaxed, the High Lords directed their element, one by one, to pool around them. Only once Lothair had successfully added his own element, was their strength tested. It was a tense twenty minutes, struggling to maintain balance among the elements and plead their case, but eventually the energy settled and directed it's attention toward the boys.

A small tired sigh of relief slipped from Rosalind's lips as the blond's wounds began to heal, first with any lingering internal injuries before proceeding to the others. As the magic approached the wounds inflicted by the wolves, Rosalind watched as the skin around the edges began to repair itself. For a moment, it looked as though the wounds would heal just as the other had, but only for a moment. As the new, repaired skin moved foward to close the wound, the boys body began to jerk in retaliation, their combined relaxed state instantly began to fade. Stepping forward, Rosalind focused her magic toward healing the wounds, calling Illaria to join her element of water with Rosalind's. The other two would continue to stabilize Harry.

The two woman struggled against he resistance, completely bewildering Rosalind. She'd never seen anything like this. In the face of the elemental magic, the magical residue left in the wound should have been burned out. Instead, it seemed to gain strength and fight back.. Putting all that she could into her intent, the two magical influences held at odds, before something shifted in the mix and the wounds instantly closed. The moment they did, Harry's eyes snapped back open, having closed when Draco's body had begun to rebel, the green of his iris' glowing brightly with power before they faded back to their normal shade. Glancing from Harry to Draco, Rosalind checked the wounds. They had closed, but the scars had remained. Reaching out, she ran a finger over one of them with a frown. Unlike most scared tissue, the skin was not rough. It was smooth, as though each wound had left a pale tattoo against the skin.

"Rosalind?"

The woman in question shook her head. "I don't know, Soren. The wounds should have healed completely." She was completely baffled. There was no precedent for this and she had nothing to turn to. Draco's health seemed to be restored, but there were questions she couldn't help but ask. Something that gone awry during the ritual and she could not be certain how the boys or the bond would be affected by that. There was little she could do at the moment, however, as the ritual was not complete; the spark in the air an obvious reminder. The blood had been accepted, tying the two together, and now Draco would face the change that would come as a result. Disconnecting herself from the boys and motioning the others to do the same, the four Elves retreated, all of them showing signs of fatigue.

"All we can do now is wait. We won't know the full extent until both boys have awoken."

"I'm concerned about those markings,"Soren admitted, his eyes moving back to where the boys lay, a soft light surrounding their prone forms as the magic took hold once again. This part of the process was theirs to go through and no one would interfere until the magic in the room had dwindled out. "Or more importantly, I'm concerned about how they might influence the bond."

Rosalind sighed and moved to sit behind the desk she often allowed her students to use. It was the only one in the room and she would not leave the boys unattended while they underwent the current settling of their bond. "It's too late for that, Soren," she responded, meeting his eyes. "What's done is done. I'll take the first watch. Go, get some rest. It will be a day or so at best before they wake."

With a resigned air, Soren turned and followed the other two High Lords from the room. He had not meant to allow it, but a seed of doubt had been embedded in his heart. Control and understanding was quickly slipping through his fingers as, metaphorically, the wolves howled at the gates.


	11. We're Not In Kansas Anymore, Toto

Despite the undetermined state of the boys health, the world continued to move forward. Three days had passed and those within Jade Manor were starting to find themselves growing restless. The tension was palpable throughout the castle, as though the very structure was aware of what was happening within it's walls. Even Soren, himself, was finding it difficult to find that inner calm. It did not help that, even now, he was faced with the repercussions of Harry's hasty actions.

“It's been four days since we were brought here, Soren. Nothing has been accomplished. Your pup doesn't even have the common courtesy to set aside time for us. It shows little respect for the alliances between us.”

Soren really could  not argue with the negative outlook of recent events, even though he knew that their discussions had been put on hold due to unforeseen circumstances. Harry did not have to be present for the decision to be made regarding the fate of the Wolves within residence, but Soren was loath to continue without his involvement. It would do little to build his confidence, and more to incite his ire.Harry, despite being misguided, had used his authority within the realm to bring those who harmed his mate to justice. Whether or not he realized that Draco was his mate, was neither here nor there. As an Elf, he was well within his rights to demand punishment. Harry's political position only complicated the matter further.

“I understand your frustrations, Hendrik, but you will have to bear with us a little longer. The Prince and his Consort,” the mention of a consort brought with it a flash of surprise to the man's eye. It was a reaction, Soren had been hoping to use to their advantage, “have not yet woken from their respective sleeps. Due to the young man's injuries the change had to be accelerated. It takes some time to regain strength after such an ordeal.” Any further information on the matter, would not be shared and it seemed that the Alpha realized that as he reined in his irritation and sat back.

It was clear, looking across the table to the burly Hungarian, that he was not entirely appeased by the situation. The stress of his position and the knowledge of possible outcomes of his seconds actions weighed heavily on him. This realm belonged to the Elves, the presence of the Wolves was based on the alliance between the two races. At one time, there had been a variety of magical races residing in the area, but as time had passed, they had drifted away. The Fae had left silently in the night while the Vampires had been cast out and isolated to their own territories. The wolves were all that remained. This coexistence between the Elves and the Wolves was crucial to both sides. The Wolves were protected here, away from the fear and violence of men. To be pushed outside of the boundaries would be devastating to their race and Hendrik was well aware of that. The pressure of keeping their pack safe and the full knowledge of what had taken place a few days prior was enough to keep him in his seat, as obedient as any Alpha could be.

It was not just the wolves, of course, that benefited from the alliance. The wolves acted as an outer defence when it came to unwanted visitors pressing in on the realm. It was a defence that had proven extremely useful in past times and Soren, personally, would be very disappointed to see that go. On top of that, there were many potions of great use that required ingredients taken directly from the race; hair, blood, ect. Freely given items were the only ones used in the creation of these potions and if no alliance existed, access to such items would be impossible.

There were other reasons why an Alpha would not wish to be cooped up within Jade Manor and Soren looked to appease these concerns to better create a foundation to handle the entire situation. Harry had demanded that the second remain under their care until the event had been thoroughly examined. He had not said anything about the Alpha. His presence here was of his own doing, out of concern for one of his. He would have been a lesser man in many eyes if he had turned his back on a member of his pack.

“I understand your restlessness, Hendrik, as well as your need to leave this place,” Soren responded, holding the other man's eyes. “Your pack is currently without leadership. I, too, would be restless in your place. It will take the Prince a few days to accustom his consort to the new environment. Your second must stay on the grounds, but you are free to leave in order to check in with your pack. I can guarantee you that no harm will come to your comrade or that no decision will be made on his fate until you are able to return to the Manor. On this, I can give you my word.”

It would not be difficult to buy the man some time. With everything that had happened since the attack in the forest, Harry's thoughts would be far from them. The boy had a lot on his plate and even more ready to be placed upon it. Deep down, Soren knew that Harry wasn't the sort to relish in pain caused to others. He would understand, if not like, the need to put this on hold. For the next little while, Draco would be his immediate concern.

Hendrik seemed to see the truth of the situation in Soren's dark eyes, for he nodded his understanding and his gratitude. It was not everyday that a High Lord made an offer to prolong an interrogation ...and that was exactly what it was. Hendrik was not a fool. He had seen the dark look in the Prince’s eyes. When he had ordered them back to Jade Manor, it had not been for a brief conversation. He'd been seeking retribution for the wrongs done to his mate. Even with the assurance in Soren's tone, he could not be sure that the Prince wouldn't still be seeking such retributions. “Three days is all I need,” he informed the Elf as he stood. He did not offer a hand to be shook nor did he bow his head. He merely nodded, an understanding between strong leaders. “I shall inform Samuel of the change and then be on my way.”

Soren rose as he did, offering a similar nod in return. He could breathe a little easier with the offer accepted. It was not much, in the grand scheme of things, but the bridge between them was on it's way to being mended. A lot would ride on Harry's decision and attitude toward the wolves when the time came to discuss what had happened, but with so much happening they would need to focus on that when it arrived. As dark eyes watched Hendrik's large form leave the room, Soren's thoughts returned to the boys who remained quiet, two floors above him.

* * *

There were several ways in which an individual could wake. One could wake as Hermione did, energetically to the sound of a trusty and punctual alarm. Then there was Ron, who only woke after being pushed, prodded, and threatened until he stumbled his way groggily to the loo. Harry, even before his change, had found himself comfortably located between the eager riser and the late sleeper. The only time he faced a discrepancy was when he was woken by the sharp pain and horror of being connected to Voldemort. Even then, waking from such a thing was a gradual experience.

Neither, however, were the case this time. There was no memory of a dream left to linger at the peripheral of his mind. He had been comfortable, lethargic, and strangely at peace in the moments before his eyes opened. It was a peace that had him wondering the cause. He couldn't say what had made him open his eyes. All that he knew was that it was time to get up. Something was pressing at his awareness. There was something he needed to do. What that was, however, he couldn't be sure.

Lothair had been standing at the window, watching the departing form of the Alpha with a displeased look on his face. He was not a fan of the wolves, but he tended not to be a fan of most things these days. He could not be certain that they could be trusted or relied on to keep the safety of the realm. Soren was quick to put his trust in them, but the older elf had been wrong in the past. A mistake, at this point, could cost them everything. Pushing away from the window, he turned to find bright green eyes staring at him. Had it not been for quick reflexes he might have been startled into movement. Instead, a simple eyebrow rose as he watched some of the sleep clear from those eyes. “Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he scoffed, moving to the end of Harry's bed, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for the youth to speak.

“Prettier than you,” his voice was rough. Rougher than he expected it to be, which sparked some surprise as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“That's because I'm a male.”

Harry grumbled, not bothering to find that familiar sense of irritation he always held for the other Elf. His mind was awake, but his body had yet to regain the same sort of energy. He couldn't remember going to sleep. He remembered the sound of Rosalind's voice, a gentle breeze, and the faint scent of oranges. Those simple memories were enough to trigger a slight ripple of other recollections; the river, blood, Draco. The moment he recalled the blond, Harry moved to push off the blankets that had been covering him. Belatedly, he realized he was wearing different clothes than he remember. Gone was the formal wear, replaced by the soft material of his casual wear. His trousers were black and pooled just slightly over his feet and the tunic covering his chest was a pale blue to rival the morning sky. His hair had been brushed and neatly pulled back into a braid; it was a braid that put to shame all the attempts Harry had made at the same thing.

Embarrassment might have been the next step in his thought process, but the sight of the braid indicated that responsibility had not lain with the Elf standing at the end of the bed. Rosalind had taken care of his appearance and he found it hard to find embarrassment in her motherly actions. She had helped Draco and Harry both and, for that, he was beyond grateful.

“You need to stay in bed,” Lothair's voice snapped Harry's attention from the prone form on the other bed as he frowned down at the strong grip that now held his arm. “Strict orders, I'm afraid.”

Harry's irritation spiked at that. He knew that the order likely came from Rosalind, herself, but he was fine. He felt fine. More importantly, he needed to make sure that Draco was alright. He had no recollection of the other man's wounds being healed. His mouth opened to indignantly exclaim as much, but the sudden sound of growling caused him to freeze. For the briefest moment, Harry thought the sound was coming from him. Turning their heads toward the sound, they were surprised to find Draco's eyes open and the sound reverberating through his chest. From his position, Harry was almost certain the pale grey of Draco's iris' were softly glowing, but he could not be certain.

Slowly removing his hand from Harry's arm, Lothair took a step back and the sound immediately cut off with Draco's eyes closing once again. Turning to look at each other, Harry and Lothair shared a surprised look before they separated; each one taking a different direction. While Lothair moved from the room to locate Rosalind and the other two High Lords, Harry instantly moved to Draco's side to get the first look at the changes that had befallen the blond.

Like Harry's, Draco's hair had grown long past where he normally kept it. Someone, Rosalind he assumed, had untangled the long lengths but it remained loose at his side. Harry knew, without touching it that each strand would be as soft as it looked. The colour too had changed. Though not drastically, the blond locks had lost some of the golden quality, further lightening the strands to almost platinum. This might have drawn his resemblance closer to his Father had it not been for the other physical changes Harry was seeing.

Draco's form had shifted and Harry was surprised to find just how much. The Draco he knew had been tall and slim, bordering on lanky. His school robes had always seemed to envelop his form completely. Now, however, Harry was sure that the Slytherin robes would do nothing to hide the broad shoulders and toned form that lay in front of him. The shift between human and Elf had corrected anything that might have been seen as weak, leaving Draco with a far stronger and mature form. Harry knew, without asking, that there would be other changes as well. Eyesight, hearing, and even the way he moved was all bound to be different than what he remembered. He'd experienced it all himself, but still he was in awe of being able to see his elven blood working within another.

A brief flutter of eyelashes had Harry leaning in closer. “Draco?” he called, hoping the blond would wake so that Harry might be able to determine whether or not he was alright. When nothing happened, he tried again, “Draco?” This time sounding more firm. It took another moment before grey eyes now flecked with the same startling green as Harry's opened, causing Harry to draw in a surprised breath.

* * *

For the life of him, Draco couldn't understand why there was so much noise. All he wanted to do was sleep and the entire world seemed to rebel against him because of it. There were birds chattering somewhere in the distance and he silently cursed the house elves for opening the windows. There were footsteps outside his room. A lot of them, which left him wondering what was going on. Surely the Dark Lord had not called a meeting? His mark had not burned the way it normally did. His thoughts continued for a brief moment in that direction, till the sound of someone calling his name brought him closer to the surface of his awareness.

“Draco?”

Finally opening his eyes, it took a moment to blink away the haze. As it faded, Draco found a pair of startlingly green eyes filling his vision. The colour seemed to swirl in their depths, mesmerizing him for a moment before a tendril of recognition wormed it's way through him. _'I know those eyes'_ was the first thought. He'd seen them before. They'd been wide in surprise and fear. One memory led to another, as his body remembered the icy cold temperature of the river as he had been thrown into it and the searing pain of the wolf at his back. As his body remembered the pain, Draco sucked in a deep breath and bolted upright, only to have his head connected violently with Harry's, the crunching sound of broken bones and Harry's cry of pain echoed in the following silence of the room.

“Bloody 'ell, Malfoy!!” Harry snapped, the words muffled and slurred from behind his hands as he tried to stop the blood now pouring from his nose. “You broke my damn nose, you prat!”

Draco was confused, disoriented, and his head was now throbbing. Lifting a hand, he rubbed at the spot that was now throbbing. That was, however, the only spot that hurt. He recalled all of the wounds that had been inflicted upon him and panic began to bubble beneath his normally cool exterior. His hands flashed out, running over his body to all the spots he knew should be wounded, but miraculously they were fine. The knife wound in his shoulder was healed, his jaw was no longer broken or sore, and there was no pain coming from his back. He was fine. Disoriented, but alive.

“Shite! God bloody damn it.”

The sound of tearing fabric had grey eyes snapping back up to watch as the familiar form at the end of the bed used a ripped off piece of Draco's sheet to try and catch some of the blood still stemming from his nose. The voice was familiar, though slightly smoother than Draco remembered. After six years of bitter rivalry, Draco couldn't mistake that voice for anyone. “Potter?” he asked, his voice slightly worried and more than a little incredulous. The last time he'd seen Dumbledore's Golden Boy, he'd been some short, scrawny,bespectacled git. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he'd been wrong. Perhaps he'd imagined the familiar quality of the voice. This couldn't be Potter.

The use of his name had brought Harry's eyes back to the blond and any doubts Draco had had about his identify went out the window. The dark glare on Harry's face combined with the now flashing green eyes was a familiar expression. This _was_ Potter and that left Draco with nothing else to do but gape at him. When had Potter grown up? When had he decided to grow his hair out? More importantly, what the bloody hell was Potter doing with a body like that?

Pulling his surprise back under his control, Draco's eyes scanned the room. It was all unfamiliar. He didn't recognize anything and that only sparked a million other questions. What had happened to him? Why was he with Potter? Was this part of Severus' plan? Why had he sent him to Potter of all people? Where Potter went, Dumbledore went. That realization brought a flash of fear to stab through his chest. He was a Death Eater. The Order would not help him.

“Merlin's beard,” Harry grumbled, having finally managed to stop the bleeding. His nose was still crooked and looked a right mess beneath the instant bruising and dried smears of blood, but he wasn't overly concerned. “You could wake up like a normal person, you know? Not jumping around like the hounds of hell are on your heels!”

Draco glared, steeling himself for the interrogation that was surely to come. Potter would notify all his Order friends and the Witch Hunt would begin. He shook his head, pulling together his usual sneer and prepared to tell Potter and his bloody Order of the Phoenix right where to go. The words never left his mouth, as his undivided attention was distracted by long strands of almost white blond hair falling over his shoulder. “What the-” his fingers wrapped around the long strands and he tugged, finding said strands attached to his own head. Fumbling with the locks, he kept pulling until he found the ends of the strands. What the bloody hell was going on? The thought was almost frantic as his eyes moved from the ends of his hair to the pair of legs stretched out in front of him. Those were not his, of that he was positive. He didn't have that sort of definition. He wasn't a bloody runner and Quidditch didn't give you this sort of definition. There was only one thing that had not changed.

_Potter._

He'd been himself when he had lost consciousness. His hair had been normal, his appearance had been normal. Now he was waking up with Potter, of all people, standing over him with those bright bloody green eyes and dorky smile. Draco's eyes snapped up, narrowed with suspicion and anger. “What the hell did you do?” he demanded, moving to slide out of bed. His hand shot out to steady himself as he stood on unfamiliar legs and adjusted to the change in his height. The more he focused on the changes, the more he realized had changed. He was taller and much broader. The birds he had thought he'd heard through an open window, he could see flying overhead roughly a quarter of a mile away. “Why the hell am I here and what the hell is going on?”

Harry winced, noticing the flare of anger immediately. So he'd been right, Draco was angry about the changes. “You were hurt. I had to do something otherwise you would have died! **”** he defended, feeling strangely insecure in the face of Draco's anger. He'd never had a problem facing Malfoy down before, and the fact that he now had the distinct urge to retreat irritated Harry. “You're welcome, by the way.” he snapped, focusing on that anger in the hopes of forcing away his more passive urges.

It was a silly thing, but having Potter save his arse stung his pride like nothing else. Falling flat on his face in front of the entire population of Hogwarts, ghosts included, would have been less damaging. Having it thrown in his face like that, only made him bristle all the more. “Add it to the list of things _'Perfect Potter'_ can feel good about!” he snapped, back his tone mocking as his fingers tightened around the strand of hair still caught in his hands. The more he let his anger with the brunette take hold, the more a weight began to settle on his chest. It had been minimal moments before, but it was starting to garner his notice.

“Oh, that's real clever, Ferret!” It was a low blow, reminding Draco of that horribly embarrassing moment in their fourth year, but Harry was beyond playing fair. He was strangely disappointed with the blond's attitude and more than a little frustrated. What other option had been left to him, save helping Draco? Should he have just stood by and idly watched him succumb to his wounds? He bet Malfoy thought that, and that only pushed Harry's anger all the further. The Git wasn't allowed to bloody well die.

Grey eyes narrowed dangerously at that slight and a hand instantly reached for his wand. Not finding it at his hip where he normally carried it, Draco growled his frustration and grabbed the first thing he could reach. This happened to be the pitcher of water on the nightstand and, in a moment of anger, he threw it at Harry's bloody irritating face. He watched it sail through the air and felt a brief moment of glee when he realized it would hit it's target before the glass froze mid air, half a foot from Potter's face. While the momentum of the pitcher froze, the water had not, splashing out of the container and soaking Harry from head to toe.

“Ha!”

“That is quite enough.”

Draco's amusement was put on hold instantly, as the presence of four unfamiliar individuals was noticed. His eyes swept over them, looking for any signs that they meant to harm him. None were familiar. They weren't the Order and Draco automatically glanced past them to look for Dumbledore. It didn't make sense the old man wasn't around there somewhere. He'd never let his precious Potter out of his sight. The nervous look in his eyes may not have been noticeable to most, but Soren could see it as though the boy had verbally admitted to it.

Not missing an opportunity to insight Harry's irritation, Lothair had moved to come up behind the brunette, his arms crossed casually over his chest and, with a smirk on his lips, said, “That went well.” While his eyes did not stray from the blond on the bed, he did not miss the murderous look in Harry's eyes as he turned to glare at him, water dripping down from his fringe.

With a disapproving 'tsk' Rosalind moved to distract Harry from attempting to harm the older Elf. After drying his clothing, she took Harry's face in her hands and studied the damage done to his nose. “I leave you alone for a moment and look what happens,” she responded, though her words were serious, there was a smile on her lips, which made Harry feel slightly sheepish about the state he was currently in. Lifting a hand, she carefully pressed the side of his nose, earning a wince in return. “This might sting a little, Harry,” she warned, taking a moment to watch for the nod of understanding before she pinched the bridge of his nose and snapped it back into place, Harry's strangled gasp of pain was followed by Ilaria's light chuckle.

“A little?” Harry panted, reaching up to make sure his nose was now straight, careful not to disturb his now delicate nose.

Offering him a brief shrug and an even more amused smile, the healer handed him a damp cloth with which to wash his face. “You've got a bit of blood on your face, dear,” she informed, sweetly.

Draco, as he had sat and watched events unfold before him, grew more and more frustrated with how little of the situation he knew and how very little sense the entire thing made. He was alive, stuck in the same room with Potter, his hair was girlishly long, and he had three intense pair of eyes focused on him. “I'd hate to interrupt but could someone please tell me what the BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?” As he spoke, his voice rose until he was shouting.

“An explanation is needed, I agree,” Soren started, taking the initiative to diffuse the clearly tense situation. A better awakening might have prevented the problem, but it was much too late to be concerned with that. Now, they would gradually have to bring him to realize the full extent of the changes he now faced. “However, before we do so, please allow Rosalind, the resident healer of Jade Manor, to ensure that your wounds have been healed completely.” Appealing to his self-interest was the easiest way to move the situation in the direction needed to be taken. The wounds on the boys back were still spots of confusion for most of those in the room.

Draco wanted to protest. He wanted to deny the fact that he needed any of their help, but the fear of what might still be lingering from his experience with both his father and the wolves lingered at the back of his mind. He knew his Father had not dared do anything too drastic to him, lest he be killed before the Dark Lord could have his fun. This did not, however, apply to the wolves. They frightened Draco the most. He'd felt his skin tear beneath their sharp claws, the memory fresh and agonizing. He could not be sure that he had not been bitten. The image of a rather shabby and tired looking Professor Lupin appeared before his eyes and Draco relented, nodding his consent.

When given the nod of approval, Rosalind moved forward. “You might feel a bit of a charge build up around you, dear,” she instructed, her voice soothing as she spoke, “As Elves, we do things a little differently than in the Wizarding world. I'll be pulling on the natural flow of energy around us rather than using a wand. I personally think that you'll do quite well in that area. You have a very strong magical core.” It was clear from what she'd seen so far that the youth sitting in front of her was a very proud being. It seemed to pour from his skin and after the less than successful interaction with Harry, she had appealed to that side of his personality with ease, gradually starting the process of enlightening him to his surroundings.

Harry watched the two, completely dumbstruck as Draco seemed to relax under her attention, even going so far as to look pleased by her praise. Instantly, Harry's irritation returned. How dare she be so easily accepted when he'd been the one to rush head first into danger. He'd been the one to pull him out of the river. Glowering darkly as he watched the two, he failed to notice the darkening of his eyes or the brief flicker of the lights as his energy spiked angrily before settling back down.

Draco didn't need to look up to know that Potter was glaring at him. It pleased him. Potter deserved to be irritated. Merlin knew the git irritated the rest of the world on a regular basis. If there had ever been a bigger thorn in his side, Draco had yet to find it and prayed that he never would. Ignoring the idiot, he focused his attention on the woman in front of him, keeping silent for a moment as the energy around him charged as she had warned. When it seemed to calm again, he spoke, “I was under the impression that the Elves did not interfere with our world?”

Rosalind was surprised that such knowledge was possessed by the blond and the look on her face spoke of it. It had been generations since the Elves had been frequent visitors to the mortal realm. “I was unaware the Wizarding folk still remember a time when we did.” This one sparked her curiosity in very different ways than Harry. Harry worried her in the way that most Mothers did. Her own children had long since grown and left home. Harry had instantly reminded her of them in their youth and had her instantly believing that he was in need of protecting. Draco, it seemed, sparked her more intellectual interests.

“Those of us born in the Wizarding World,” his tone was haughty and Harry instantly took it as a slight against himself, “were raised with tales of most magical creatures; Elves, Fae, Werewolves, Banshees, all of them. It's a surprisingly a popularinterest among Purebloods.”

Lothair snorted, from his position beside Ilaria. “Are you sure we didn't get it wrong the first time?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “This one seems more like Prince material.”

The irritated hiss from Soren was lost to Harry as the delicate hold on his emotions snapped. He was furious, envious, and strangely saddened. His anger had no focus point, it simply continued to climb as the realization that Malfoy did fit this role better than he did. He couldn't even bloody get his own life right, it seemed. Spinning on his heel, Harry stormed toward the door to the infirmary. “Then bloody well keep him!” Was the final snapped reply as the door slammed shut behind Harry's retreating figure, leaving an utterly silent room in his wake.

* * *

Gwynn had not expected to see Harry much in the coming weeks. It was disappointing, she could admit, having grown rather fond of the ridiculous Elf. She couldn't fault him for his absence, however, word had spread quickly through the castle about a possible Consort. It seemed that despite the High Lords intent to keep such information from circulating, it had managed to slip free. The entire manor was buzzing. So when Harry stormed into the training courtyard, a rolling black cloud of anger hovering over him, she was rightfully surprised. Nor was she surprised when those who had previously been using the area had quickly disappeared.

With barely a glance, Harry had immediately started in on one of the practice dummies. As she watched, her eyebrows rose higher and higher as the minutes rolled by. Piece by piece the dummy fell away as Harry went through each offensive move he'd learned since arriving, continuing until there was nothing but the support pole left to hack away at.

“Well that was...interesting?” she hedged, unsure of what to say. The last thing she wanted to do was direct his anger to herself. She had no idea what had caused the outburst, but she was partially glad to have not been a part of it. “I'm going to go out on a ledge here and say something's got your braid in a knot.”

The comment earned her an irritated roll of his eyes as he sheathed his sword once again and ran a hand through his slightly damp hair. He'd need to shower again, but he was in no hurry to go back into the Manor; to a particular snotty Slytherin. Kicking a stray piece of the practice dummy, Harry moved to lean against the low stone wall that ran along the boundary of the court yard, meticulously built archways providing windows into the expanding corridors leading away from it. “If I just walked away, do you think I'd still be welcome within the realm?” he asked, turning to consider her. “I mean as a regular citizen without political responsibilities and without a bloody Consort?”

' _Ah_ ' was the only thing Gwynn thought as everything seemed to click into place. “I'm assuming the ritual went as expected?” she asked, curiously. There was a million questions she wanted to ask, but in the face of the ones Harry had presented to her, she held her tongue. His unimpressed look told her that he wouldn't be legitimizing her question with an answer. “I suppose so. There's no laws against such a thing. “ _Could_ you walk away?” And that was the real question. She may not have know Harry as long as others had, but it wasn't difficult to see the answer to that question. Not with the continued presence of this Voldemort fellow in Harry's thoughts. He couldn't walk away from this world, just as he couldn't walk away from that one.

Harry seemed to come to the same conclusion if the sigh and slumping of his shoulders was anything to go by. “I want to,” he muttered, drawing the short dagger he kept on the side of his boots and proceeding to scratch out a small hole in the mortar of the wall, “It's irritating being the only one who doesn't know what 's going on. Even bloody Malfoy knows more about this place than I do.” That statement was punctuated with a slightly more viscous stab of the dagger.

“How can he possibly know more about this place? He's just a wizard.”

In another circumstance, Harry might have been irritated by her despairing attitude toward Wizarding kind. As it was, however, he chose to ignore it, popping a tiny stone from the wall. “He doesn't I guess, but he knows a lot more about it than I did when they found me,” Harry explained, realizing that he sounded like a child, jealous of a sibling. However, Lothair's comment still rang in his ears. What if he was right? What if they put their faith in him and he wasn't the right choice? What if he failed where Draco would have exceeded? “They're all up there fawning over the idiot as we speak.”

Gwynn was hard pressed to imagine any of the High Lords fawning over anyone, let alone some recently turned mortal. The thought would have been entertaining had it not been the serious look on Harry's face. His insecurities were surprising. She had assumed that he'd moved past it, but perhaps all he had done was hide it within himself. She watched him for a moment before she rolled her eyes, reached out, and smacked him upside the head.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, already!” she demanded, shooting him a pointed look that dared him to argue that he wasn't. It was there all over his face. Pity. “They do not favour him over you. You're the rightful heir to the throne and nothing is going to change that. This Malfoy of yours is just another subject under your rule and he'll see that soon enough.”

The doubt on Harry's face spoke volumes about how much he believed her. Malfoy? His subject? Oh, Harry could bet the blond would just love to hear that. He was already displeased about having been turning into an elf. A subject under Harry was going to make him even more difficult to manage. Not even Soren had enough patience to deal with the expected Malfoy tantrum that would bring about. “You're insane.”

Harry might not have believed her words, but Gwynn stood by them. They were the truth. It didn't matter how irritating this Malfoy was or how much he didn't want to be a member of this realm. He was there now and he would have to fall into line like the rest of them. That was all there was to it. “Come on,” she urged, hopping down from her own position on the wall, “I'm starving. Let's go to the kitchens before all the good stuff gets put away for the night.” Despite living outside of the Manor, Gwynn was quickly becoming accustomed to meal times and the access Harry had to the kitchen. Food here was just so much better than the stuff her Mother dared to cook.

Whether he be Muggle, Wizard, or Elf, Harry's ears perked at the thought of food. It really was amazing how quickly he could let go of what troubled him in the face of a decent meal. It was part of the reason he was always so excited to be at The Burrow. Molly Weasley was the best bloody cook he knew, but these Elves weren't half bad either. “Do you think they could make me some treacle tart?” he asked hopefully, hoping down himself and following along after her.

Her nose wrinkled as she turned to see if he was serious. “That sounds disgusting.”

Harry instantly stumbled under the weight of his surprise. His eyes wide as he watched her shrug it off and continue on her way. After a moment, he forced himself forward again, shouting “Have you been living under a rock?” as he hurried to catch up with her.

* * *

The longer he stood there, standing in front of the full length mirror that Rosalind had been so kind to bring him, Draco was finding it harder and harder to find himself. He didn't recognize the image reflected back at him. After Potter had stormed out, the High Lords had taken their leave as well with the promise to return at a later hour to continue their discussion. In that time, he had tried to gather himself. With Rosalind's help, he was given new clothes to wear. Gone were his wizarding fashions. Even if the tears  in them been reparable, they still would not have fit his new frame. Instead, he was dressed much the way Potter had been. Dark trousers, the material soft and light as they seemed to comfortably take the shape of his hips and thighs before falling down to pool at his feet. The tunic covering his chest was a light blue and felt strangely soft against his skin. A corded belt had been added at his hips. He had been given boots as well, but Draco felt strangely more comfortable with his feet bare. These clothes were not his. In fact, he didn't know who they belonged to and, yet, he felt strangely comfortable in them.

His hair had been another matter. The moment he'd been permitted to address it, he had begged to have it cut. He had never been a fan of the long locks his Father had always preferred and the previous state of his hair was far beyond acceptable. Despite having been informed that many of the Elves in the realm preferred to keep their hair long, bound back within a braid, Draco had still insisted on having it cut. Whether or not he'd suddenly become one of them, he was not feeling generous enough to condone such an appearance. Only with the repeated assurance from the blond had Rosalind agreed to assist him. He had felt nothing as the long lengths had been snipped away until gradually, it began to resemblance some form of semblance. Guiding her actions as only he could, Draco instructed her on how to cut it; short and clean cut at the nap of his neck and around his ears, before gradually lengthening as it moved forward. His hair laid neatly at the back of his head as it had once done, before he took some liberty with the front and let the soft locks be angled forward, leaving them long enough to obscure his eyes as he bowed his head.

It was a pleasing effect, Draco had to admit, in combination with his recent physical changes. He, by all rights, should have felt particularly pleased with his appearance. His frame held more strength, more authority. Gone were the signs of physical abuse suffered at the hands of his father. Gone were the emotional scars and insecurities...at least from the surface. They lingered just out of sight, squeezing his chest painfully as he recalled them; recalled the last view of his Mother and the infuriating refusal of his Father to tell him her fate. Lucius has seen the weakness in his son immediately and had latched onto it with relish. His love and fear for his Mother had become just another tool to slice away at Draco's resolve.

His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes hardening in the mirror. His eyes. So changed now from the grey of his Father's bloodline. He was half grateful for the green flecks that now tarnished them. It set him further apart from the man who had sired him.

“Draco?”

Taking a deep breath, Draco shifted his anger to the back of his mind. He would not release it or let it dwindle. It would be what drove him forward until he stood in front of his Father once more. Whether it be in this world or the next, Lucius would stand and face what he'd done.

“Come,” Rosalind urged, feeling the emotions churning within the youth. It worried her. Harry too, seemed to have a similar burning darkness within him, but this was different. This was volatile. “We have many things to discuss before the High Lords return.” It took several moments of baited breath, but gradually the dark energy began to retreat and Draco gradually came back to awareness.

“Will you tell me what I am?”

The question bothered him, she could tell. He was very focused on defining himself and it was clear that he was having difficulty doing so. She was not surprised. He had defined himself as a Wizard of strong blood, only to wake and realize that everything he'd once held as important had been burned from him. He was no longer a Wizard. He no longer could rely on his connection with the world he'd been raised in. He was something much more than that and it would no longer be enough to contain him.

“You are an Elf,” she started, motioning for him to follow her. Leading him away from the main room, Rosalind stepped back into her professional quarters. Knowing the others would be returning, she did not head for the office, instead turning them toward the conference room. It was a little less personal, she supposed, but it would allow Draco the room to retreat if he so needed it. There was a lot of information to be stowed upon him. “Created as such in an attempt to save your life. I should stress upon you the significance of this. We do not involve ourselves in the affairs of the Wizards and we do not change them to increase our own population. We accept only those who have had Elven blood passed down through the generations and are lucky enough to have it activated upon their inheritance. Harry, as you are aware, insisted that we step in when it came to you. He was quite persistent that keeping you alive was the right course of action.”

There was a pang of guilt that flared briefly in Draco's chest before he smothered it with his regularly quick irritation with the Gryffindor. “Of course, Potter says something and everyone jumps to heed him, right? Figures.” It seemed that no matter where he went, Potter was still an insufferable git with far more than he deserved.

A small, amused smiled pulled at Rosalind's lips. The rivalry that was between the two of them was something that amused her. It reminded her of just how young the two of them were. They might have been of legal age in the human world, but within this realm the had much more to see and learn. “I cannot speak for the Wizarding world, but in this one, Harry is of great importance to us all. It is not what he has done that earns him our loyalty. It is the promise of what he could be that allows us to hope, but we'll discuss this at a later time. For now, I'd like to discuss the markings on your back.”

It was at least a relief to know that they did not simply assume that Potter was useful. They at least had the sense to wait and see if he could actually measure up to the standards they needed; something that Draco was still unconvinced off. Potter was not a symbol of hope. He was bloody chaos in everything from his hair to his personality. These thoughts, however, were waylaid as she drew his attention back to the memories of the Werewolves. He'd been terrified when he'd seen the markings, instantly thinking that he'd been affected with lycanthropy and forever doomed to that lifestyle only to find his resolve shaken again when he'd looked closer. He could remember the scars on Greyback's victims. He'd seen them as they'd turned, locked away in the depths of the Dungeons buried beneath Malfoy Manor. These were not the same marking. Those had been bloody and ugly,the skin torn and jagged as it had attempted to mend. These were smooth, barely there.

“I have attempted to find some reference in our archives that might shed some light on the meaning of your markings, but so far I have come up empty handed. Soren has spoken with the Alpha and his Second, but they too have no knowledge of it. It truly is very peculiar,” Rosalind admitted, flipping through some of the notes she had in front of her. “I do not know what to expect from you in regards to any traits that might stem from the attack. In order to heal you, Harry's blood was pumped gradually into your bloodstream. The combination of his Elven blood with the high percentage of Dragon's blood in his system should have burned out any lingering magic in your system.”

Draco paled, the colour draining from his face with every word that she spoke. There were so many things wrong with this situation. Werewolves, dragons, Potter, blood, all of it. He had grown up in a Pureblood household fond of the Dark Arts and Godson to the best Potions Master Hogwarts had ever seen. Harry might not have been aware of the significance of their blood transfusion, but Draco was well aware. Blood magic was powerful. Arguably the most powerful magic there was. It was the reason blood was such an expensive potions ingredient. It added power to any brew, but it was also a volatile ingredient. Too little or too much could have dangerous side effects. The sharing of blood between two wizards was taboo. It was the reason there were blood replenishing potions for injuries where major blood loss had occurred. Adding an Elven ritual and a creature inheritance to the mix only further complicated the entire situation.

Slowly things began to click into place. The spark of guilt or pride when he'd considered Potter. The weight on his chest that had appeared  when Potter had stormed from the room. They were bonded. He was bloody bonded to Harry bloody Potter, the boy with the biggest bloody target on his forehead.


End file.
